how about harry/draco getting back together after a breakup OR drag queen!harry (or both in the same story heeey)

dddraconis:

mate i have been trying to write this for like 2 weeks now, i’m sorry it’s not happening, but here are some vague hcs

• i think harry hates attention too much to ever be a drag queen in like the performing sense, but i can def see him playing around with gender and queerness and drag in his own quiet but sure way
• harry wandering bored round grimmauld place in a soft flowery dress, capped sleeves tight on his shoulders, lounging on the couch with his knees hooked over the arm and the skirt falling pretty and gauzy around his hairy legs
• gardening in a pink slip he’s pretty sure once belonged to walburga with a flannel shirt thrown unbuttoned over the top when the sun goes down and it starts to get chilly
• doesn’t really mind what pronouns people use, ‘he’ still feels familiar and comfortable, ‘they’ is kind of nice, one morning he comes downstairs in skinny jeans and a yellow crop top and ginny looks up and says absently, warmly, “oh, you’re such a pretty girl,” and harry thinks about it all day, warm and shy
• can’t wear high heels, no matter how good they make his legs look, he never gets over the uneasy feeling that he might suddenly need to run
• finds a kilt that he assumes was sirius’s, wears it quite a bit, it makes a bit of a splash when he goes out for a drink in it and the daily prophet get pictures and it promptly starts a trend
• hot august days lying in grimmauld place’s garden with sunglasses and a too big chudley cannons t-shirt and lace underwear
• lipstick, always slightly smeared in one corner where his hand jerks
• luna puts winged eyeliner on him one night and he’s almost frighteningly beautiful
• he has one photo of his grandparents, the potters, when they were young, and he likes the gold bangles all up his grandma’s arms, writes awkwardly to parvati for advice, and she takes him shopping in brick lane
• is in a bar feeling sort of tired and sad and itchy in his own skin one night, wearing a short black dress that looks half like an oversized 80s shirt except its tight and sweet around his waist, and cheap tights and his sneakers trailing laces. when he spots the blonde head of hair his heart sort of sinks, not in the mood for smirking or, worse, one of the tense, awkward conversations they’ve tended to have after the war. only when draco saunters over and says, “well, potter,” his sneer falls away before it can even get properly going, and his eyes go dark. he says, slow and a little surprised, his drawl almost warm, considering, “you look nice.”