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Elegance\'s Eloquence	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3452 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Elegance's Eloquence
- 1
Title: Elegance’s Eloquence
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Fluff and angst
Rating: R
Wordcount: 7700
Summary: Draco Malfoy is in charge of getting Harry Potter ready to appear in public, per the Minister’s say-so. He might also be in charge of rather more than that, but Harry is unsure about this.
Author’s Notes: Another of my Advent fics, written for an anonymous request where Draco is in charge of Harry’s appearance for Ministry functions, and also in charge of a pair of wandering hands that surprise Harry.
Elegance’s Eloquence
            “Again?” Harry asked the ceiling as Minister Cecilia Traven ushered him into a room with Draco Malfoy waiting at the center.
            “Again,” said Traven, and shut the door on them. Perhaps she was remembering the time a few months ago when Harry had rounded the corner, seen Malfoy waiting with some sort of headdress made of emerald feathers and silver sparkling stones, and turned around to throw a curse at her.
            “There’s no need for an exclamation of so much dismay,” Malfoy said, and then took a critical step back to survey Harry. “Unless you looked in your mirror immediately before coming in here, I suppose.”
            Harry shut his eyes and told himself that blasting Malfoy through the window would be a bad idea. Especially since they were inside the Ministry and it was an enchanted window, “looking” out on nothing but solid rock.
            “Just do what you have to do and get it over with, Malfoy,” he said, turning his back and walking over to the uncomfortable chair sitting in the middle of the room. It apparently needed to be uncomfortable, because Malfoy claimed that too many people fell asleep under his preparations otherwise.
            No chance of that, Harry thought as he plopped into the chair and stared straight ahead. He was too aware of how he looked next to Malfoy, who seemed to have spent his time since the war studying spells that made his boots and his hair and his teeth sparkle. Harry knew his hair was a tangled mess and his robes were a wrinkled mess and his boots never sparkled no matter how much he cast charms on them. Well, either that or they were a bloody mess. Those were the kinds of cases Harry worked.
            He no longer knew why Traven and her fellow supervisors at the Ministry made a fuss when he appeared in public like that. He was never going to look any different. And didn’t they want an Auror who looked like he’d been working?
            Harry snorted bitterly to himself. No. They wanted an Auror who looked like he did nothing but pose. He had learned that to his cost when he passed through the Auror training program with flying colors and high marks and got stares for it. He’d been let in to be pretty and charming, not for high marks.
            “You do seem tense, Potter,” Malfoy remarked, and his hands came down on Harry’s shoulders from behind the chair. Harry tensed up even more. Malfoy chuckled and rubbed his shoulders. “You suffered the distressing realization that not even dragon spit works on your hair?”
            Harry rolled his eyes, but stayed silent. Supposedly Malfoy , of all people, had a reputation as charming, which was another reason he got hired a lot. Traven said that it was an advantage to have someone who could make the Ministry look good and had a sense of humor at the same time.
            Next time, I’ll have a sense of humor about giant bats flying through the corridors and trying to eat the Minister. Traven hadn’t even commended Harry once in private for blasting one of them to pieces right in front of her. She’d been too upset about the gobbets of dirty bat flesh on her robes.
            “Yes, tense,” Malfoy said into his ear, and made him jump. He’d gone deep enough into his head to forget about Malfoy, which ought to have been a blessing, but trust Malfoy to bring him back in his own stupid way. “I think you need something more than just a color change on those robes and a flattening on that hair.”
            Harry shrugged, wriggling under Malfoy’s hands. “You always say that.” And it was always something dumb, like the time Malfoy had made Harry’s robes “more formal” and nearly strangled him with his own robe collar.
            “Why wouldn’t I, when I’m always right?” Malfoy’s wand traced a slow line over Harry’s shoulder blades, and Harry shut his eyes in resignation. No matter how Malfoy went about it, he just was not ever going to feel right about having a former enemy’s wand near his neck. “Hm, yes. I think—yes, Potter. You’d look magnificent in green, and you know it.”
            “No green,” Harry said automatically. “Or silver.” He barely got to choose what he wore on a daily basis anymore, but he was going to hang onto that. “No Slytherin colors.”
            “It has nothing to do with Slytherin,” Malfoy said in a slightly outraged voice, because of course no one could make a decision different from his on any point of fashion, “and everything to do with how wonderful you’re going to look with robes that complement your eyes.”
            “What?” Harry made another attempt to shrug off Malfoy’s hands, but he’d got them firmly settled. “Because, yes, it would calm down so many diplomats when I enter this reception and I’m wearing robes the color of the Killing Curse.” He had come to accept that that was what his eyes looked like, after years of seeing that curse fly at him. “Come on, choose something else.”
            “Is that what you think your eyes resemble?” Malfoy was doing that trick of whispering directly in his ear again, which Harry hated. Surely he ought to be able to tell that it didn’t work on Harry, even if it relaxed his other clients. “No. They’re jade. Jade set on fire.”
            His wand slid across Harry’s robes, tracing the lines of his muscles under the cloth, and Harry jumped a little as his robes altered, from dusty scarlet to blazing green. He had to admit they were a nice color. They could just go be a nice color on someone else.
            Then Malfoy touched his hair, and used whatever combination of creams and charms he used to make it lie flat. Harry sighed and lowered his head when Malfoy told him to. Fine, he’d lost the battle. He would go to the reception and smile and mingle and then head home as soon as he could so that he could get rid of the stupid robes.
            “You’re much handsomer than you realize.”
            Harry started and tried to stand up, but Malfoy’s hands and wand were still in the right place, and pushed him back into the chair. Meanwhile, Malfoy kept murmuring the way he would if he was trying to soothe a fractious horse. “Yes, that’s it, just a moment, you’re going to look wonderful when you get up.”
            Harry hated to admit that those words and touch worked on him. He found himself shutting his eyes, tilting his head so Malfoy’s hand could glide down past his ear and land on his chest. Malfoy kept it there, riding the motions of Harry’s skin as he breathed in and out, and his words merged into a chant of nonsense syllables.
            “There, you’re done.”
            “Your hand’s still on my chest,” Harry said thickly, opening his eyes, and saw Malfoy smile and pull his hand back with a last, subtle stroke.
            “I was smoothing out the line of your robes,” Malfoy said, and then eyed Harry and nodded one more time. “Yes. You’ll do.”
            Harry gave a quick jerk of his head as the last of his relaxation fled. “When I look the way you want me to, you mean,” he muttered, and stood up, shaking his head when he saw that Malfoy had conjured a floating mirror. “No, thanks. I’ll preen some other time.”
            Malfoy watched him go quietly. Harry could feel those eyes on his back all the way across the room.
            Jade set on fire.
            Harry rolled his neck again. So what if Malfoy had a good eye for color? Harry had heard the Killing Curse comparison so many times, not only from people like Rita Skeeter but ordinary people he’d just rescued, and not all of them were his enemies. It had to be true.
            And anyway, Malfoy had put Harry in stupid Slytherin robes, which kind of invalidated his right to have an opinion.
*
            “I’ll have you know the green robes were a success.”
            Harry sighed and leaned his head against the fireplace mantel. Once again he was in the room where he was always brought to be subjected to torments from Malfoy. He thought things might go more quickly if he hid his eyes and refused to succumb to Malfoy’s definition of a “friendly” touch. “By whose measure?” he muttered. “Three people turned away from me when they saw them. Three people refused to talk to me. And other people decided to flirt with me. I don’t want any of those consequences.”
            “You shouldn’t pay attention to the opinions of stupid people,” Malfoy said, so close behind him that Harry jumped, despite thinking he was going to stand there silent and passive and not give Malfoy any entertainment.
            “But you think the opinions of everyone except you are stupid,” Harry tried to argue, and then gasped as Malfoy reached up and ran his fingers lightly around Harry’s neck, just above the collar of the robes he was wearing right now. Harry quickly closed his eyes and turned his head away again. It wasn’t his fault that Malfoy’s touch caused shivers to run through him. He just didn’t know how to cope with intimate touches like that when intimate relationships had been so rare in his life.
            “I’m glad to find you’re such a good student,” Malfoy said, and then clucked his tongue. “Such a shame you can’t learn my lesson about the hair.”
            Harry lifted his elbows so he could rest them on the mantel, too. “Will you do what you’re going to do and get it over with?” he asked, resigned.
            Malfoy began moving his wand over Harry’s robes again. Harry refused to look. If they were going to be green, they were going to be green.
            “In the case of the people who turned away from you,” Malfoy said quietly after a few moments of letting Harry think he would get away without some sort of discussion with Malfoy, “I happen to know they thought you had suddenly adopted Slytherin beliefs because of your robe color. So those opinions are stupid. I’m sure you’ll agree.”
            “How do you know that?” Harry popped his eyes open, then forced them closed again. It wasn’t like he had mentioned names, not that he could if he wanted to. He didn’t know the names. He only knew that Minister Traven had given him a disappointed look, which meant they were important people he should have talked to.
            And not even that disappointment had worked for him, because when Harry argued that Malfoy shouldn’t have charge of his looks if he offended people, Minister Traven had argued right back that Malfoy was doing the best he could and Harry needed to make himself more diplomatically acceptable.
            As if they gave me any lessons in that!
            “Because I was at the party,” said Malfoy, and then reached up and ran his wand around Harry’s neck. Harry hissed as something thick and cold settled there. “All done.”
            “I didn’t see you at the party,” Harry said, opening his eyes and stepping back fast. Maybe if he could get outside before Malfoy—
            But no, he had already Transfigured the wall and mantel in front of Harry to a silver mirror. Harry had to stare at himself, and the blue robes, and the heavy golden torque around his throat that covered his chest and shoulders down to the level of his heart on the front, and the middle of his spine on the back.
            “What the fuck, Malfoy?” he snapped, meeting Malfoy’s eyes in the mirror. “Even I know that’s gaudy.”
            Malfoy shook his head a little. “You’re not seeing the way it looks with those robes, because you don’t have the right eye for color,” he murmured, and laid a hand on the edge of the collar. “And you also can’t read those magical runes on the edges.”
            By cocking his head to the side and squinting a little, Harry could make out runes in the scalloped edge of the collar. They looked like some of the ones that Hermione usually worked with during Arithmancy. “What do they say?” he demanded, nettled. “Are you going to cause a political incident by sending me out there with some kind of offensive message on me?”
            Malfoy convulsed silently behind him, his hand trembling on Harry’s chest. It was probably the laughter that guided his hand lower, towards Harry’s heart. Harry shied away, and Malfoy paused, then retracted his hand.
            “Oh, Harry,” Malfoy whispered into his ear, and shook his head when Harry shied again. “No, I would never do that. My purpose is to make you look good, not worse. For all that you seem to think I want you to look like a prat.”
            “I told you that green robes would make me look like a Slytherin!”
            “And I’ve told you that the people you’ll offend over that are the ones whose good opinion isn’t worth keeping,” Malfoy returned, smartly. “The runes are fine. The robes are beautiful. You’ll look good.” He touched Harry’s heart one more time—maybe he was making sure that the way it beat didn’t crack the gold with how frantic it was, Harry thought, snide—and then stepped back and bowed.
            “You’re already almost late, aren’t you?” he added pleasantly, and Harry cast a Tempus Charm, then swore.
            “Bye, Malfoy,” he said, and ducked out of the room, hoping his speed would ruffle the neat lines of his robes.
            It wasn’t until he was in the ballroom, pretending to be interested in the insipid conversation of the witch dancing with him, that he realized Malfoy had never told him what the runes on the torque meant.
*
            Harry slumped at his desk and buried his face in his hands. He was heartsick, and it wasn't just the result of the curse that one of those twisted Dark wizards had launched at his heart, gripping it and making it try to jump out of his body.
            They'd gone in prepared and warned, with the knowledge that Fenrir Greyback was among the former Death Eaters they were tracking. And still they had lost three Aurors outright to injuries Greyback and Rabastan Lestrange had inflicted, and they had another two Aurors who would have to wait and see whether the scratches Greyback had inflicted in his human form would turn them into werewolves.
            He stiffened when someone knocked at his office door, and cast a Locking Charm. "I'll talk to the press later, Minister," he called. "I don't want--"
            The door opened anyway, indicating he should have been faster with the charm. Harry lifted his head with a glare for Ron or Traven, whoever it was.
            He found it wasted as Malfoy strolled into the office and considered him for a second, tilting his head to the side. He nodded a second later and cast a spell that moved over Harry's nape like a cooling breeze. "Yes, that's what I'll do with your hair."
            Harry took hold of his wand. "I'm not going out and talking to the press. I don't care what you do to me."
            "When have I ever done anything but make you look good?" Malfoy asked pleasantly, and moved behind him. He was already Transfiguring Harry's scarlet Auror robes; Harry could feel them rising and falling around him like a wave of water.
            "Oi!" Harry tried to shrug them off, but the cool blue color that Malfoy had turned them wasn't affected. "I don't need this. There's blood on my hands, and I should be in St. Mungo's seeing how those poor bastards are--"
            "But instead, you're here, brooding behind your desk, in a way that's really going to do them a lot of good, isn't it?"
            Malfoy's voice felt like a little silver knife going in. Harry flinched away and started to stand up. Yes, he should have gone to St. Mungo's in the first place. He should have been faster. He should have been--
            "Can't have that," said Malfoy, and cast a charm that Harry had never heard before and couldn't hear properly now, thanks to Malfoy muttering it mostly beneath his breath. Harry felt the corners of his lips lift in an artificially manipulated smile.
            Harry whirled around, one hand raised to seize Malfoy's throat. Malfoy danced back, his eyes not laughing, the way they usually were, but piercing.
            "The faster you get out there and give Traven the sort of nonsense she wants, the faster you can get into hospital," said Malfoy. "I'm only doing my job, but I'm doing it for your benefit and not hers."
            "How can I appear in new robes and stuff like that when my friends could be dying?" Harry brushed distractedly at the new robes, and Malfoy stepped up and neatly fastened a heavy golden bracelet, with the same runes on it as the torque, around his wrist.
            "Because it's important for you to impress them and get the fuck out of there?" Malfoy cast another spell, one more complex than what he usually used, and it flattened Harry's hair as though someone was pressing a palm down on it. "They'll only besiege St. Mungo's again if you go hide from them without saying something, and you know how restful that was for the Healers and Weasley last time."
            Harry folded his arms and looked away. That one had been his fault, too. The Healers could barely treat Ron with all the reporters and Harry-fans and curious people pressing into hospital and pretending to be injured or sick just so they could get a glimpse of Harry.
            "Chin up."
            Malfoy had another bloody torque in his hands. Harry shook his head. "I'm not wearing that until you tell me what the runes mean."
            "Do you want to get out there quickly or not?"
            "I want to get out there quickly and I want you to tell me what the runes mean." Harry turned to face Malfoy. "It shouldn't take you more than a quick sentence or two."
            Malfoy flipped his eyebrows up, as though to say that he could talk about torques with runes on them for days at a time, but he nodded. "If I tell you what it says, will you wear the bloody thing?"
            "It better not be literally bloody," Harry grumbled, but he dipped his head and let Malfoy slide the torque into place around his neck. It felt heavier than the other one Malfoy had given him, even though Harry thought it was actually smaller.
            "The runes mean that you're under the protection of someone who knows what he's doing with clothes," said Malfoy, and ran a finger under the place where the torque met the nape of Harry's neck, a cool touch that made Harry shiver--but not as much as the hand lightly plucking at the seam on his thigh to readjust it.
            "They say you're my fashion designer?" Harry shook his head and let out a short laugh. "It figures that you would use some tragedy I'm suffering to advertise for your business."
            "Not quite that," Malfoy said, and gave the torque a satisfied look. "And remember, the sooner you're dressed and done, the sooner you can be in hospital with all those Aurors you care about."
            Harry looked at him, a little surprised at the bitterness in his voice, but Malfoy turned him and shoved him towards the door by patting the air at his back, not touching the actual robe. "Go on, go on already."
            "Thanks, Malfoy," Harry muttered, and opened the door.
            Minister Traven was waiting for him outside, and she swept him with a single look, then nodded briskly, gesturing at the corridor that led to the lifts. "I'm glad to see that you had the initiative to contact Mr. Malfoy on your own, Harry. Come, let's get this interview over with."
            Harry opened his mouth to say that he hadn't contacted Malfoy, that he'd assumed Traven had, and then closed it. Other things were more important right now.
            But it did make him wonder how Malfoy had known to come and change his robes and give him the torque, and who would get charged for the robes. One thing Harry did know was that Malfoy did not work for free.
*
            Harry sighed and leaned back against the wall of the huge ballroom the Ministry had rented for their latest party. Glasses of champagne and gilt on robes and bright, false chatter sparkled all around him.
            This time, the party had apparently been planned in advance, but Harry hadn't known about it. He'd spent the last five days with paperwork, and celebrating with Hutton and Evanson, the two Aurors wounded by Greyback who had turned out not to be infected after all, and conducting one of those meticulous searches into Potions ingredient smuggling that he hated so much. This time, Ron was the one who had dragged him here, with the assurance that Neville and Seamus would be there and it would be more like a gathering of old Gryffindor friends than one of the gala affairs Harry hated.
            But of course, Ron and Neville and Seamus had started talking about their girlfriends, and Harry had had to excuse himself before someone remembered Ginny and brought her up. His friends weren't bad friends, they were just bad at remembering that Harry's relationship with Ginny hadn't ended happily, and he hadn't had anyone to share things with in the seven months since.
            He scowled into his drink.
            "It's a good thing I didn't see you before now. That scowl doesn't go with anything I have with me."
            Harry jumped. Malfoy was in front of him, frowning at his robes. They were perfectly acceptable Auror ones, without even blood or dirt on them, and Harry snatched Malfoy's wrist when he started to raise his wand to Transfigure them.
            "No you bloody don't," he hissed softly back, while Malfoy looked at him with innocent eyes. "I like these robes, and I want to keep them."
            "They don't complement your eyes," Malfoy said back. "They don't complement your hair, or your smile, or even your hands or any of the other good features you have. At least let me make the style a little more flattering."
            "No way. Just let me get drunk in peace," said Harry, and thought of something. "Anyway, you haven't charged me for the last set of robes you did, and we both know that it wasn't Minister Traven's idea to send you to me. What do I owe you?"
            For some unsettling reason, that made a smirk settle on Malfoy's lips, and he inclined his head a little. "You want to settle the debt."
            "Yeah. I don't like owing you, Malfoy."
            Malfoy clucked his tongue. "Harry, Harry, Harry. You owe me so much more than you could ever know, including making you look good in almost impossible circumstances." But he was circling around to Harry's back, leaning his hands on Harry's shoulders the way he did to force him into a chair. His breath was hot and quick as he leaned forwards to speak into Harry's ear. Harry wondered if he'd been drinking. "You want to pay me back?"
            "I think we already established that," Harry muttered, staring ahead and hating the world right now.
            "Then let me do something about the style of these robes for you. It'll be a glamour that fades in a few hours. But long enough for you to give me someone worth looking at here."
            Harry shook his head violently, but not in refusal. Merlin, he was sex-starved when he started hearing an offer in Malfoy's words. "Yeah, fine. Do it."
            Malfoy chuckled so softly that it was hard to hear, and then a cold sensation spilled down from the top of Harry's head that reminded him of what a Disillusionment Charm felt like. It was so cold he shivered, in fact, and leaned instinctively back into Malfoy's warm body behind him.
            "Why, Harry." Malfoy's voice was smooth and confident in his ear. "Fancy meeting you like this."
            Harry jerked away, his face flaming. Trust Malfoy to combine even something that he was supposed to want with a dose of humiliation.
            Malfoy moved around in front of him and nodded, looking him up and down. Harry started to open his mouth to say that was all he needed, but it was useless. Malfoy had already conjured a mirror--or maybe whipped one out from where it was hiding under his robes. Harry didn't think anyone could conjure one that fast.
            Maybe if they do it all the bloody time, Harry conceded, and cast a disgusted glance at his reflection. He had robes that shimmered at the edges with gilt and silver, and once again, there were runes woven into the lining. Harry shrugged. He supposed it was better than a torque.
            "Any results from your advertising?" he asked, turning back to Malfoy and gesturing at the runes.
            Malfoy's eyes were dark, fixed on his body, and Harry didn't think he heard Harry for a second. Then his gaze found Harry's face, and he smiled pleasantly. "Yes, some very interesting results. For one thing, I got to see who else had a claim on you. Some powerful people think they do. They don't."
            "I was unaware there was a whole line of people clamoring to be my fashion designer," Harry muttered, bewildered.
            "What I meant is people who would try to get close to you," said Malfoy, and stepped in, and reached down to readjust the hang of Harry's robes. Harry gasped as Malfoy's hand passed between his legs and delicately patted the line there smooth. Malfoy moved away from him abruptly, but he looked pleased. "And I've been warning them away from doing so."
            "I don't get close with many people," said Harry. "I hardly think I'd commit to dating someone who I didn't even know."
            Malfoy gave him a secretive smile that Harry couldn't help returning, even though he didn't really understand why Malfoy was giving it to him. "That's right," Malfoy said, and turned and sauntered away, calling over his shoulder, "And that's what the runes are meant to tell them. Enjoy your evening, Harry."
            Malfoy really needed to learn he shouldn't call Harry by his first name, but he vanished into the swirling crowd before Harry could tell him that. For a moment, Harry stood there, nursing his drink and contemplating going back to his friends.
            Then he just did it. It didn't matter that they had girlfriends and he didn't. He would just have to put up with it. What he had told Malfoy was true. It was hard for him to let people, let alone strangers, close to him.
*
            "Where's Malfoy?" Harry demanded, a little aghast, when Minister Traven led him to the same room but he saw a different man standing there, one in polished black from the obsidian-jeweled headband clasping his hair to his gleaming dragonhide boots.
            "He couldn't come today," said Traven. She gave him a thin smile. "And I've tried to hire people more to your liking since you've performed so well lately, Auror Potter. This is Henry Engels. He asked to have the privilege of dressing you especially."
            Then she shut the door on Harry, and left him with Engels prowling around him, tilting his head as though he was trying to examine the look of Harry's skin under his Auror robes--which suddenly felt as though they were a lot more revealing than he had ever believed they were. Engels gave him a hot smile.
            "I know that Mr. Malfoy dressed you in a certain style," he said. "But I'm sure that you don't need that edge to look masculine."
            His voice was heavy with innuendo, Harry knew that, but he really didn't know what the innuendo referred to. He stared at the man in silent hostility until the smile disappeared from Engels's face, and he coughed and stepped back.
            "Unless you prefer that style, of course," he said. "Unless you prefer to look like a Slytherin dressed you."
            "You aren't a Slytherin?" Harry asked. He would have guessed that, based on the all-black clothes.
            "No, I was a Ravenclaw," said Engels. "Not that House distinctions as such should matter after school, I'm sure you understand--"
            "Then why bring them up?"
            Engels was staring at him with a silent sort of frustration that Harry was used to from Malfoy. He liked it better when Malfoy did it, though. "This has nothing to do with the way that I'm going to dress you," Engels said finally, and held up a brown robe. "If you're going to be ready in an hour, you should get out of those robes."
            "Malfoy never did it that way," Harry told Engels, frowning. "He simply Transfigured my robes and then added other--accoutrements."
            He didn't think he was pronouncing that last word right, and from the way Engels stared, he didn't think Harry was, either. He held up the brown robe and shook it, meaningfully.
            Harry eyed that robe in distaste as he reached for his own collar. He didn't think it was his color. But he knew he had no eye for fashion, and if he said something like that, Engels would only laugh.
            Then the door was flung open. Harry wheeled around, wand out, glad that he hadn't completed the process of taking off his robes.
            Malfoy strolled in, the opposite of the speed he'd used to throw open the door, and his eyes fixed on Engels as if he was the only one in the room. Harry raised his eyebrows. "About time you showed up," he said.
            Malfoy gave him a smile and a nod, but Harry knew neither was for Engels, who got the hard gaze instead. "You thought you could take my place?" Malfoy asked, with harmonics of challenge in his voice that confused Harry. He supposed clothing designers must have intense rivalries or something.
            "I was appointed to take your place," said Engels, folding his fingers down into the elegant lace along his cuffs. "By Minister Traven herself."
            Malfoy caught his breath in what sounded like pain. Harry took a quick step forwards. "What if I hire you outside the Ministry?" he asked. "I could pay some of your fees, anyway." He knew Malfoy probably charged more than he could afford to pay on a regular basis, but at least it would cover some of the time, and get him away from Engels.
            "Be quiet, Harry," said Malfoy, and gave Harry a smile that made him blink harder than ever, before he turned to face Engels. "You know what the symbols I put on his robes and on his torques meant."
            "And I understand that the contract to dress him comes through the Minister and not him." Engels's nose was in the air. "Maybe you didn't take advantage of all the prestige that would have come your way. I don't intend to make that mistake."
            Malfoy only nodded as though someone had told him he was sacked and he didn't object, and turned back towards the door. Harry's heart sank a little. Malfoy was walking away and leaving him in the hands of someone who favored brown robes, just like that?
            But instead, Malfoy spelled the door shut. Then he turned around and murmured to Harry, "You prefer me as your official dresser?"
            "Er," said Harry. He had come to favor Malfoy, although he didn't know when that had happened. Maybe it was just in contrast to Engels. He shot a glance at the other man, only to find him glaring at Harry instead of Malfoy. That stiffened Harry's spine. "Yes. I do."
            "Then you have to be the one to tell Minister Traven," said Malfoy, and Harry shot an eloquent look at the locked door. Malfoy smiled. "You'll be the one to tell her. Later." He waved his wand lazily.
            Harry had never seen the golden spiral of light that unfolded from Malfoy's wand before, but Engels yelped and tried to dodge it. It didn't work. It wrapped around him and squeezed like a snake, and then all his black clothes transformed to brown.
            Harry bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He didn't think he should really give Malfoy the encouragement. That was the color of the robe that Engels had been planning to wrap him in.
            "Perhaps only a close encounter with that unfortunate shade will let you see how very unfortunate it is," Malfoy told Engels in a conciliating voice. Then he spread his hands. "Let's see you do the same to me."
            Engels grabbed his wand and hissed like a cat. "You know I don't know any spells like that."
            "Then why would the Minister hire you?" Malfoy smiled, his eyes very cold. "She's always been satisfied with my work, and it works faster than having Harry try on robes." Harry shifted at the mention of his first name, but Malfoy didn't look at him. "Tell me why she hired you."
            Engels hunched his neck. "Because she was afraid that an inappropriate relationship was growing between the two of you," he muttered. "And Potter can't have any stains on his reputation if he's to bolster the Ministry's."
            Harry shook his head hard, hoping it would lessen the feeling of having his ears stuffed with cotton. "What?" he asked, and he did feel a little stupid.
            "You heard him, I hope," said Malfoy. "I certainly don't want him to have to repeat such disgusting insinuations again."
            "Yes, of course," Harry muttered, a little disconcerted. He still didn't know what was more disturbing, that Traven was engaging in such intrigue or that Malfoy hated the rumors.
            Well, he would, wouldn't he? It could affect his reputation, too. Maybe people would think he was less impartial or something if rumors got about that he was Harry Potter's latest shag.
            Harry sighed a little. I wish I had a latest shag.
            "Now change them back," Engels whined, staring down at his robes and then up at Malfoy.
            "You really are worried about that, aren't you?" Malfoy asked, and seemed to pause to enjoy the look on Engels's face for a long moment before he laughed and waved his wand, and the clothes became the same shade of glittering black as before. "You should learn the spell. It's simple enough."
            Engels didn't bother responding. He just snatched up the brown robe and a few other boxes he'd brought--which looked, to Harry's horrified glance, like makeup--and fled out the door, which Malfoy considerately opened for him.
            Then Malfoy locked it again, and turned around and prowled towards Harry.
            "You need to stand up for yourself more often," he murmured. "Going along with everything Traven wants just makes her think she can command you."
            Harry blurted the first thing that came into his head. "So you don't think the rumors that might be circulating about us are disgusting? Or you wouldn't still be here."
            "I think that the rumors circulating about us have been too long in coming," Malfoy whispered, and paused with one hand on the collar of the robes that Harry wore. "I want to see what you look like in a new style. May I?"
            Harry stared at him. "You really--"
            "I really want everything," Malfoy said, and ducked his head in what Harry knew was only a pretense of humility, although he did a good job of looking up through his eyelashes. "But only if you'll give it to me. I would never try to take it, like Engels." His face twisted at the mention of the name.
            "I don't understand what this has to do with you being late today and the runes on my robes and torque," Harry said, putting his hand atop Malfoy's, although his heart was thrilling along in his chest and he thought he could guess, if he had to.
            "You're going to be tiresome, aren't you?" Malfoy asked, although there was a deep spark of delight in his eyes that suggested he wasn't all that displeased. "Very well. I was making you look good, but I was also making you happy, and people noticed."
            "You do not make me happy," Harry snapped. "I never like having my hair flattened and my robes changed."
            "I made you happy with my presence," Malfoy corrected patiently. "I didn't say it was all my designs."
            "Oh," said Harry, and tilted his head back as Malfoy's hand trailed gently up his throat, where he would have put the torque if he had one with him. Harry knew he sounded a little breathless as he whispered, "And Minister Traven didn't like that?"
            "She's happy enough to employ my services when she thinks it can make the Ministry look good, but she didn't like the idea of me dating her star Auror," Malfoy said simply, and began to untie Harry's robes gently at the collar. "And so she hired someone else. She might even have hoped that Engels would make you look a little different. Less attractive."
            "That's pretty easy," Harry muttered. "Eyes that remind people of a deadly curse--"
            "They're jade set on fire," Malfoy said, as he lifted the robes off over Harry's head and laid them tenderly on a chair. "I told you that, and I'd thank you not to forget it." And he cupped a hand beneath Harry's chin and leaned in so he could kiss him.
            Harry gasped, and Malfoy's tongue more than made up for the dismay he'd felt at the sight of Engels and during that moment when he'd thought that maybe Malfoy hated the rumors, or him. Malfoy's arm was firm around his waist, his fingers were playing with the waistband of Harry's pants, and Harry thought he might die of happiness.
            "Yes, that's it," said Malfoy, sliding back from him, and then to the floor in a single graceful motion, where he began to relieve Harry of his boots.
            Harry shook his head, dazed and happy and suspicious, and muttered, "You like the way I look?"
            "I would never have agreed to dress you, if I didn't," Malfoy announced, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "I don't spend time around ugly things without changing them. And that goes double for ugly people."
            Harry opened his mouth to argue that Malfoy hadn't changed the way he looked, but Malfoy said softly, as he pulled off boots and then socks with gentle hands, "You can lie back, Harry."
            "This room didn't come equipped with a bed, the last time I looked," Harry retorted. He hoped that Malfoy wasn't as good as conjuring a bed as he was with a mirror, purely for what such a practice would imply.
            "It does now," said Malfoy, and flicked his wand. One of the chairs where he had Harry sit to reach his hair was Transfigured into a bed when Harry looked.
            Harry was naked as soon as Malfoy pulled off his pants, and Malfoy was kneeling on the floor looking at him with so much appreciation that it wasn't uncomfortable. He walked backwards and fell onto the bed, then followed instinct and the desire to tease Malfoy both, and spread his legs. "Like this?"
            "Yes," Malfoy said, soft and hoarse, and followed him, sliding off his own robes. His skin was far paler than Harry's, but still pretty to look at. And he wore no pants, which made Harry snort as he slid a hand out to take Malfoy's cock.
            "That confident, were you?"
            "That my robes would shelter me if I started to experience an inconvenient reaction, yes," said Malfoy, and his eyes were fluttering, and a flush was burning its way down his throat, eating up a bunch of his restraint, and Harry decided that it was a little silly to keep calling him Malfoy. Draco would probably sound better, anyway.
            "I like you naked," said Harry, and then cocked his head. "But I've only been with women before, you know. That was one reason I couldn't believe you were really touching me like you wanted me. Why would you want me?"
            He knew he was begging for compliments, a little, but he really did want to know the answer to that question, and from the soft look Draco gave him, he was going to get both.
            "I want you because of what you look like, and what you did, and what you are," said Draco, and slid a hand in a long sweep from Harry's cock to his hip. Harry had to close his eyes, but that didn't get him away from Draco's voice, which followed him into the darkness. "And I think you want some of the same things I do. Maybe not the exact person, but the pleasure. You could do with some of that, couldn't you?"
            There was only one answer to that that could exist, or that Harry wanted to give.
            "Yes," he gasped, and pulled Draco on top of him.
            Draco was smiling, so triumphant that Harry would have found the sight irritating only a short while ago. He kissed Harry and conjured lube on his fingers with his wand without losing that smile, but Harry was pleased to see that he did lose it when he reached down to Harry's arse and Harry arched his hips and wriggled it.
            "So good," Draco said, which was a bit rich considering he wasn't even inside Harry yet. Harry did hold his breath when Draco first reached inside him, anticipating pain. He didn't know a lot about what two men did together, but that was one of the bits of advice lots of people had bandied about.
            There wasn't any pain, though. Harry looked at Draco, who arched his eyebrows and said, "Trust me to have found the right style of lube as well as of robes."
            Harry laughed, and that helped him relax further. There was a little bit of a sting when Draco eased his other fingers in, but Draco paused to add more lube, and even that vanished.
            "You're with someone who wants pleasure and beauty for you," Draco whispered into his ear as he shifted on top of Harry and placed a pillow under his arse. "Someone who wanted to give you those things sometimes even when I could only look at you across a Ministry gala and dream about becoming your dresser. Trust me to know what I'm doing."
            "Is that why you accepted Minister Traven's attempt to bring you in as my semi-permanent dresser?" Harry asked, and spread his legs at Draco's urging. "Because you wanted to be close to me?"
            "Spreading beauty and joy is my career," said Draco in a scandalized voice, and then dropped it as he began to ease his cock into Harry. "And you're someone who could use them. I've thought that for a long, long time."
            Harry didn't ask more questions. At the moment, he really didn't care how long Draco had wanted to give him those things, and whether any of them were linked to the war or Draco feeling pity for what Harry had gone through. What he wanted was Draco's cock inside him, and a lot of it.
            Then he had it, and it wasn't enough. What he really wanted, Harry discovered, was Draco to move. So he rocked his arse helpfully, and Draco got the idea and laughed softly and began to move with him.
            And then even that wasn't enough, and Harry discovered he really wanted heavy thrusts. He whined and thrust up at Draco, urging him on.
            "I don't want to--" Draco started to say.
            Harry knew, he knew, that that would end in some sort of statement about not wanting to hurt him, and that wasn't at all what he wanted to encourage. So he clamped his legs around Draco's hips and rolled him over so he could straddle him, and Draco went with him, mouth open in what he probably imagined was going to be a protest.
            But he wasn't protesting when Harry managed to get his feet on the bed and start bouncing on Draco. He groaned and let his head tumble backwards instead, eyelids jerking as if he'd forgotten how to work them.
            Not for nothing had Harry trained and fought criminals and run to distress calls for the past several years. He kept going even after Draco's muscles were quivering from exhaustion, and he rammed himself down when he knew it was the right moment, and gave his own grin of triumph as the pleasure ripped through him.
            Engels and Traven and the pressures of being an Auror and the uncertainties about what Malfoy's gentle touches meant, all of them soared away, spiraled away, fled out of his body, and Harry collapsed on Draco, who was undergoing much the same process with more bliss, according to his facial expression.
            Harry closed his eyes. "You brought beauty and joy," he muttered, half-drunk still. "I think that you'll go on doing it, won't you?"
            Draco's hand touched his temple, and Harry opened his eyes and saw Draco smiling at him, gentle and tender and new, like unfurled leaves.
            "Yes," Draco agreed. "And you're more beautiful like this than in any of my colors."
            Harry had the feeling he should muster a compliment in return, but he didn't know how to. He just pressed his lips to Draco's, and hoped the feelings would get through that way, everything he wanted to say and couldn't.
            From the way Draco smiled back into the kiss, they had.
  The End.
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Elegance\'s Eloquence