The Jumper

As he stood in the middle of their lounge room staring, dumbfounded, into the fire, Harry couldn't think. "You…You…"

"I think you should sit down." There was a slight note of concern in Draco's voice. It was all Harry could do not to jump across the room and strangle him.

Controlling the urge, he instead took a deep breath, closed his eyes and flexing the muscles in his hands in an effort not to give into the delicious temptation. Draco must have noticed because his gaze slid to Harry's hands warily.

"So much as touch me Potter, I swear to Merlin! I'll sue you; I'll sue you for every last spider in your cupboard!" He crossed his arms and huffed, blowing a stray strand of platinum hair out of his eyes as he leant back into the lounge. "It was an ugly jumper anyway."

Harry ignored him, staring forlornly at the fire. Only a small, charred lump remained of his jumper now—the jumper he received from Mrs. Weasley the last Christmas past.

"I was cold."

That was Draco's divine reasoning when Harry had asked him why had had used his favourite jumper as tinder. When Harry, quite calmly in light of the situation, politely pointed out that there was chopped wood outside, Draco had curled his lip in obvious distain. "Yes, Potter," he'd sneered,"there is wood outside. Great Salazar, you really are dense sometimes."


Draco rolled his eyes at Harry's inert muteness. "You really should calm down, your left eye is twitching something rather horrid. Stress really isn't good for the skin."

Harry gaped at him. "You set my jumper on fire!" he spluttered. Draco seemed distinctly unimpressed. "You did it on purpose, I know you did—you were always ranting about how much you hated it!"

Draco ignored him pointedly, and patted the cushion beside him. "Do you want a cup of tea? A biscuit, maybe? One of those foul tarts you like? Here, sit."

He went to take Harry's hand, who snatched it away with a glare. "No I don't want a bleeding cup of tea! I want you to admit you did it on purpose!"

Draco scowled. "Oh for—I'll buy you another one! Merlin knows we'll find one for about a Knut or two from some positively plebeian shop—that wool was horribly scratchy, I don't know how you could wear it. Or how about this? I'll get that Weasley woman to make you a new one! I'm certain she will—"

Harry cut across, his tone harsh. "You don't get it, do you Draco!"

"Get what?" Draco scoffed, anger flashing in his eyes. "That you have awful taste in sweaters? Because no, I don't 'get' that, Potter. I did you a favour! That jumper was hideous and you were wearing it all the time."

Harry snapped. With a flick of his wand, the fire was extinguished and he was standing, looming over Draco like an on-coming storm. "Draco, someone I love made me that jumper. I don't care whether it was hideous or not! You always do this!"

Living with Draco was hard. Ever since they had moved in with each other two years ago, he'd had nothing nice to say about the way Harry lived. His food was too fatty, his clothes were appalling, he didn't own a house elf—what a travesty!

But never had Harry imagined he would do something like this. He didn't even care about the jumper—just the thought that Draco would be so…so…nonchalant about destroying something so dear to him.

Surprisingly, Draco was silent. A curious expression flittered across his face, one that Harry struggled to pin down.

Harry sighed. "Never mind. I'm going to bed."

That night, neither Draco nor Harry slept well.

The next day, when Harry arrived home from work, Draco was sitting at the dining room table surrounded by yards upon yards of fabric, at least three pairs of scissors and half a dozen packets of sewing needles.

Harry leant up against the doorway, watching Draco curiously. "Hi." It was the first thing he had said to him since their fight.

Draco jumped, but relaxed slightly when he turned to see Harry. "Oh, it's you."

Harry arched an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

Draco sighed before standing up. In his hands, he unfolded the green fabric, letting it fall so Harry could see that it was a jumper. "I thought that if you wanted a tacky jumper like that, you could at least have a cashmere one." His tone was haughty but Harry could see the tension around his eyes. "And see, I even put the stupid 'H' on the front." He frowned at his handiwork before glancing up at Harry expectantly. "Are you happy now?"

The stitching was sloppy and messy—obviously done by hand as Harry knew Draco was rubbish at any sort of household spells—and not quite finished and the greens were perhaps a little too matching, but suddenly everything was okay. Harry smiled brightly and, after crossing the room in two steps, took Draco into his arms, planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

Draco released a warm breath into the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry," he whispered, almost too soft for Harry to hear.

Harry lifted his head up to meet his gaze. "Thank you, Draco." He kissed him gently and Draco's lips were warm and soft against his as he smiled into the kiss. "You're forgiven."

Living with Draco was hard. But it was worth the perks.