the devil went down to hogsmeade

When did Draco get an instrument like that?

The blonde works one hand up and down and up and down and up and down its spine with a washcloth filled with polish until light catches on the shiny wood and bounces gold slivers against the walls of the Three Broomsticks. Draco turns the violin to him and starts tuning the A string, skilled fingers pulling the note tighter and tighter. 

Harry’s never wanted anything so badly. 

“The wood’s from a sacred fir tree. The bow’s unicorn hair. My great-great-great-great grandfather made it by hand, working every day for almost four-and-a-half years,” Draco says when he catches Harry staring. 

“Amazing.” 

When Harry stops mapping the violin’s smooth surface and finally looks up, Draco’s smiling with the unchecked glee of someone who has leverage and knows it. A devil in a three-piece suit. 

“Are you playing tonight, Potter? Do you play?” 

Harry opens a green case covered in stickers and pulls out his hand-me-down Yamaha. “I’m the best, actually.” 

Draco’s supposed to challenge his claim, but he just laughs once, sharp like the first note in an overture, like he’s warning Harry how much the songs to come will dazzle and destroy him. 

“Then let’s say we make this interesting. I’ll play, and then you play, and if the crowd likes your serenade better, then you get my violin.” 

“And if you win? What do you get?”

Draco’s eyes travel up and down Harry’s body, pulling it tighter and tighter until Harry’s attuned to Draco’s desire. 

“Deal,” Harry says, his violin already on his shoulder. He slices back and forth across the strings with practiced ease. 

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on ao3 | @drarrymicrofic prompt: serenade