Word Count: 571
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This drabble was written for fun, not for profit.
Author's notes: (1) Beta-ed by dysonrules *adores*
(2) X-posted to harrydraco, hp_creatures and hp_animagus
Summary: Harry has this thing he does...
Start at the beginning - Meow
Sequel to Harry's New Terms
Draco tapped his foot in frustration as he waited for Potter. He'd been working with the Gryffindor for two weeks now and, while he was closer to achieving his Animagus form on his own, he hadn't quite mastered it yet.
It annoyed him to no end that he needed Potter, of all people, to help him with this task. Unfortunately, unless he wanted to tell someone else about his predicament, he was stuck. He sighed and cast a Tempus Charm. Realistically, Potter never took long showers after playing chase the stick; it just felt that way.
And how ridiculous was that, anyway? The idiot could have asked Draco to do anything he wanted and what did he want? He wanted Draco to play fetch with him every afternoon.
Granted Potter was pretty adorable as a puppy, at least as far as smelly dogs that ruined your good robes go. However, Draco's favorite part of their sessions together wasn't the stick throwing, or the Animagus training, or Potter petting his ears, although that came in a close second. No, the Slytherin's favorite part of the day was...
The door to the loo clicked open. The blond lifted his head slowly, trying to look casual. Potter wandered myopically into the room, feeling around on various tables. Draco smiled. His favorite part of the day was watching Potter walk around in a towel while he looked for his glasses. Whether the Gryffindor deliberately removed his glasses before he went into the loo was anyone's guess. Draco rather suspected it was accidental but he certainly wasn't going to complain. He leaned back and his lips still stretched in a wide grin. Today Potter's glasses were on a table beside the couch. The dark-haired boy would have to walk right in front of Draco to fetch them.
For some reason he never asked for Draco's assistance during his search. That was just as well considering the fact that the Slytherin's mouth went inexplicably dry and his ability to speak became rather limited any time he gazed upon that delectable, Quidditch-toned chest. Potter finally came toward him, walking close enough that Draco could see individual droplets of water as they ran down his damp skin. He debated snatching the towel away but decided against it. The last thing he needed was to offend Potter's Gryffindor sensibilities by turning him into an unwilling exhibitionist.
His companion finally found his glasses and shoved them rather forcefully on his nose. "Ah, there you are, Draco."
The blond bit down a snide comment about the fact that he hadn't moved since Potter left. Instead he replied, "Draco? Since when am I Draco to you?"
Potter blushed as if realizing his slip, and glanced down. His blush darkened as he apparently remembered he was clad only in a towel. "Let me... um... let me just fetch my clothes shall I?" He bolted for the loo.
Draco couldn't resist one last remark. "No need to get dressed on my account, Harry."
The Gryffindor froze with his hand on the door and turned. "Is that so?"
Now it was Draco's turn to blush. Before he could formulate a reply Potter gave him a decidedly wicked grin. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind, Draco."
As soon as he was gone the Slytherin flopped back on the couch in a most un-Malfoy-ish manner. How did Potter always manage to get the better of him?
Next Harry's Dilemma