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Harry loved his job. The paperwork, and the talking to people, and the tea were all dreadful, but when he balanced it up against the doing good and occasionally punching criminals (purely in the line of duty, as he was always telling Hermione) he was still one of those people who could say they loved their job. Not bad for anyone who hadn’t yet hit the big three-oh, Harry always thought.
However, he had hated his three years of training. Hated it with a passion. Some of the classes were all right, mainly the practical ones where you got to make things go boom. But since the rest of the “wet behind the ears bunch of nancies” he shared his class with were all war veterans too, he didn’t shine all that much. And in his first Stealth and Tracking practical he tripped over a bin, and in Concealment and Disguise he kept making himself white-blond whenever the instructor requested “a generic dark wizard”. And the non-practical classes, about what the Aurors were not allowed to do and psychological profiles, were even worse. Harry had not expected Auror exams to involve a quill. Ron agreed with him. Hermione just made puns about the quill being mightier than the wand and snickered into her article on centaur oppression.
So when it was suggested that the Auror trainees spend six weeks working one-on-one with Aurors on the job, Harry immediately signed up to teach. He knew it would have made his own training infinitely less dull and pointless-seeming, and if he’d seen proper action before his first day he might have made less of a hash of it. Besides, the trainees would spend the summer holidays after their second year doing it. They couldn’t be that clueless.
“Better you than me, mate,” Ron told him, clapping him on the shoulder so that he nearly dropped his pint. Ron had really piled on muscle during his training. “They’re going to be a bunch of little sheep following us about, tripping over their hooves. And every time you talk to yours, it’ll stare up at you with big bunny eyes and not move until you look away.”
“A sheep with bunny eyes?”
“Yes,” Ron insisted. “Trust me.” He grinned slyly, and Harry was struck by his sudden resemblance to George. “Maybe you’ll be assigned some pretty blond thing. The kind to fall madly in love with the oh so heroic Harry Potter.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Some people have a kink for that,” Ron pointed out in mildly injured tones. “I certainly love Hermione when she’s all fired up and hexing people left right and centre. Besides, you’ll be teaching them things. Loads of people get crushes on their teachers.”
Ron was always doing this lately, talking in worldly-wise tones about romance; Harry suspected it was something to do with his recent fifth-anniversary celebrations with Hermione. It irritated Harry. Just because he hadn’t found The One yet didn’t mean he was clueless. Hell, he was twenty-nine, he had plenty of time. Maybe he hadn’t had sex in – in a while, but he was hardly hopeless.
“I always suspected about you and Professor Trelawney,” Harry told him, and enjoyed sweet, spluttery vengeance.
~*~
Harry wasn’t exactly a morning person, but he wasn’t nearly as bleary-eyed and smelly as most of his colleagues were at nine-thirty on a Monday. Still, that was the scheduled time for the trainees to meet their assigned Aurors, possibly so they would see the full horror of the job right away.
Tim Hayler, a colleague Harry was friendly with, met Harry at his desk and they headed to the meeting room together. It was one of the bigger conference rooms, but the trainees weren’t taking advantage of the space on offer. They stood in an anxious huddle off to the side, looking about with big eyes and bitten lips, fiddling with the sleeves of their new, official Auror robes. The little badges saying Trainee winked from their chests, as shiny as their well-polished shoes.
They all looked so young. Harry couldn’t imagine that he’d ever been so young. Maybe he hadn’t been, though: at their age, he’d already survived a war.
The main trainer, Angelica Williams, was standing at the front of the room giving them reassuring smiles. She was a few years older than Harry and light years more competent, with a distinct look of McGonagall around the eyes. He imagined the nine second-year trainees he counted were all rather scared of her. But then, the Aurors were too: she gestured imperiously at the Aurors who were still trickling in, and they all ducked their heads and went obediently to stand in the corner by the door.
Tim crossed his arms and looked the trainees over. The other Aurors were doing the same, muttering to each other and looking macho: there were a lot of artificially squared jaws. It’s rather a meat-market, Harry thought a little uncomfortably, as Tim leered at an Asian girl with a sleek bob. Tim leaned in and whispered, “who’d you want to get? Would you be interested in any of this lot?”
“Interes – no, no, I don’t think so. They’re barely out of Hogwarts; the Prophet would never let me forget it if I turned cradle-snatcher.”
“The price of fame,” Tim said mournfully, clapping Harry on the shoulder. Harry gave him an awkward, closed-mouthed smile and nodded. Tim leered at the girl again. This time she caught him at it, and shot him a savage glare. Tim shrank back and Harry tried not to grin.
“We should be getting started soon,” Angelica said suddenly, in one of those projected voices that showed she was used to talking to a large audience – and to having them pay total attention. “Of course the trainees have been here for half an hour, and I think most of you lot are here as well. Only a few people left and then I can match you all up.”
“I bet they’re all hoping to get you, oh great saviour,” Tim teased. Unfortunately he hadn’t done well in Stealth and Tracking either: the trainees all heard him. A gust of whispering went up, and Harry groaned.
“Thanks, thanks a lot for that.” They were all eyeing him now. They might have seemed pretty harmless one-on-one, but en masse it was like being surrounded by a bunch of wide-eyed, wand-happy hyenas.
The door banged open, hitting the doorframe and bouncing back as someone rushed through it. Harry looked over, and his eyebrows rose incredulously as he recognised Draco Malfoy. “What’s he – ”
“I’m sorry, Angelica!” Malfoy said quickly. He was pink-cheeked with running. “I woke up late and the elves weren’t prepared and – ”
“It’s quite all right, Mr Malfoy,” Angelica said dryly. “You’re not the only one who’s late; besides, I have unfortunately become aware that your being punctual is a foolish hope on a Monday morning.”
Malfoy flushed still pinker, and slunk over to the crowd of trainees. Harry stared. No one else seemed to be reacting to the sight of Malfoy – white-blond, arrogant, evil little pureblood bigot – standing with those young innocents as if he had every right to be there.
“You’re training to be an Auror?” he burst out.
Every head in the room swung towards him. The trainees were wide-eyed, looking as if they expected a showdown right here and now, or perhaps some display of messianic power. Well, aside from that girl Tim had leered at: she simply raised an eyebrow and looked as if she thought Harry was being rather silly.
Harry, under the cynical gazes of his fellow Aurors, was starting to agree.
“Yes,” Malfoy said succinctly, grey eyes flying up to meet Harry’s instantly, as though he’d known just where Harry was standing. “I’m training to be a great Auror. Much better than you.”
He grinned. Harry felt rage throbbing through his veins and tried to control himself. It was Malfoy, and if Harry hexed a mouthy trainee into unconsciousness he’d probably have his colleagues’ full support; but his superiors wouldn’t like it and the other trainees looked scared enough already. Besides, the Prophet had started doing things like reporting on Auror brutality lately.
Hermione was an excellent editor, but she did make things difficult sometimes.
“Right,” he said through his teeth. “I don’t know how you think you’re going to do better than me, Malfoy, since I’ve been fighting evil since I was eleven while you were running away and hiding behind your mummy’s robes – ”
Malfoy’s eyes iced over. Harry winced.
“You – ”
“Silence,” Angelica said in tones that were not so much ‘cold’ as ‘reminiscent of an Arctic wind that would gleefully freeze your bollocks off’. “Ms Edgecombe has just arrived, and if I’m not mistaken that means all the Aurors participating in this scheme have arrived. Much as this little scene fills Aurors of the right age with nostalgia for their Hogwarts days, I must remind Mr Malfoy that I disapprove of melodrama and Mr Potter that he is meant to be setting an example.”
They both shuffled back to their own groups. Tim clapped Harry companionably on the shoulder, and whispered, “let’s hope we don’t get that little bastard, eh?” Harry eyed Malfoy askance, and noticed two splotches of pink on his pale cheekbones. No doubt he, like all other trainees, had come to hate it when Angelica disapproved of him.
“Now,” Angelica continued. “I’ll read out the name of each trainee in alphabetical order. When I read out your name, step forward. Then I’ll read out the Auror’s name, and they can step forward to claim their trainee. All clear?”
There was a vague murmur, and Angelica said, “First: Akiko Bhee.”
Akiko Bhee stepped forward: she was the girl who’d glared at Tim. She turned out to be Tim’s trainee. He whispered, “hell yeah,” before he stepped forward to get her, and Harry worried a little about the future of Tim’s testicles. Still, if he got himself into trouble there he’d only have himself to blame. Harry would speak to him later about not coming on to one’s trainee.
Harry was drawn out of these thoughts by Angelica saying Malfoy’s name. Malfoy stepped forward and tipped his chin up, looking at the Aurors with a defiant expression. Harry thought that someone should explain to him why exposing your throat to people who didn’t like you very much was a bad idea, particularly when it looked all pale and vulnerable. That sort of thing tempted people to bite you.
“Harry Potter.”
Harry choked, tried to step forward, and tripped on air. While he was lying on the hard floor and trying not to die of embarrassment, Malfoy was protesting.
“You can’t make me his trainee! Our Aurors are meant to teach us things and take us on missions and not get us brutally murdered. And they have an impact on our final marks – he’ll sabotage me, Williams, you know he will!”
Harry got up, and in a movement he had no intention of ever repeating, stood at Malfoy’s back and supported him.
“Come on, Angelica! Don’t the pairs have to get on at least a little? I’m not having him following me around and trying to trip me up for the next six weeks!”
Angelica looked at them both for a moment. She looked like an owl trying to decide which fieldmouse she should heartlessly devour first.
“So you two would like me to change your assignments.”
“Yes!” Malfoy said, and Harry nodded fervently.
“You would like me to assign you both to someone else. To change my system, which was worked out painstakingly over weeks of unpaid overtime, in order to give each trainee an Auror most suited to improving on their most egregious weaknesses – ”
“No Ms Williams, we’re sorry Ms Williams, this will be fine. Your system cannot fail!” Malfoy said, and gave Angelica a charming smile that would have been more effective without the crazy eyes. Harry decided that their being partners was indeed better than facing Angelica’s wrath. He grabbed Malfoy’s arm and dragged him off to his -- their -- cubicle.
~*~
When they got there, Harry snapped at Malfoy not to break anything and went back to his reports. He tried to, at least; writing under Malfoy’s cynical eye made him itch. Malfoy was maintaining a sulky silence, but Harry was sure he was cataloguing all his mistakes for the purpose of later mocking, or perhaps so he could sell the details of Harry’s incompetence to the Prophet.
Although it wasn’t like Hermione wasn’t fully aware.
When did I get this insecure? Stupid Malfoy. He was a good Auror, he knew that. It was just like Malfoy to watch him with that supercilious little smile on his face and make Harry anxious, even though he was just a trainee. He hadn’t felt this desperate to do well since his own training under Angelica’s hard eye. But then if he cocked up under Angelica she might eviscerate him with sarcasm, but she wouldn’t point, laugh, and then go and do impressions of his failure at the pub.
Besides, it was Malfoy. The idea of him being impressed, maybe even intimidated by Harry’s Auror skills was just... it made him feel tingly. At least he was a trainee. Maybe Harry could do something suitably heroic and Malfoy would be impressed, and stare at him with huge grey eyes and know he could never, ever, hope to be such an amazing –
He turned round to see Malfoy picking a photo of Harry, Ron and Hermione off his desk and making a face at it. “Give me that,” he snapped, snatching for it. Malfoy pulled it out of his reach and kept looking, narrowing his eyes at it.
“What on earth is the Weasel wearing, Potter? It’s like all the luridly coloured wool in the world came to him to die of shame.”
“Sit down and shut up.”
Malfoy obeyed, which was rather satisfying. He was still holding the photograph, though, and a small smirk was appearing on his pale face. Harry tried to ignore it. He was an Auror, and he had important work to do.
“Oh, Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice shaking a little. Harry looked round to see Malfoy trying not to smile, his cheeks a little flushed. “Why is your little photographic self puffing his chest at me?”
Harry felt his face go scarlet.
“Now he’s running his hand through his hair,” Malfoy observed. “I mention this only because I wish to be a great Auror and that involves seeing all. Oh, now he’s – ”
Malfoy went rather pinker and put the photo back on the desk, face-down. Harry decided not to ask.
Working with impressive dedication was difficult under Malfoy’s eyes, though, especially with Malfoy sitting down. There wasn’t much room in the cubicle, and Harry could smell Malfoy’s cologne.
He was probably sneering at Harry’s handwriting. Besides, Harry was aware that his trainee, who was going to be grateful for Harry’s nurturing, mentoring ways whether he liked it or not, the horrible little twerp, was probably not learning much. He threw his quill onto the wood and sighed in frustration. “Right, I’m off for lunch. I think I deserve an early break, under the circumstances.” Malfoy frowned. Harry wasn’t sure why: ‘circumstances’ was probably the kindest term a Gryffindor had ever used to describe the wanker.
“Fine,” Malfoy said, sneering. “Where are we going?”
Harry stared at him. “We’re not going anywhere. I’m going to find Ron and complain about you. You can find one of your jailbait friends to spend time with. Assuming you have any – maybe people who’re training to be Aurors have too much sense to make friends with you.”
Malfoy made the expected “hmph” noise, but his expression was uncertain. He looked up at Harry from his seat, his eyebrows furrowed. His colourless eyelashes were glinting a bit against his pale skin, under the florescent lights.
Harry was pretty sure that he wasn’t making sad eyes so that Harry would give in. Malfoy had never been much good at subtlety; the great ‘I Have Been Tragically Injured By That Evil, Rabid Hippogriff’ incident had shown that.
Harry crumpled like wet cardboard anyway.
“Oh all right,” he snapped. “Come along, then, we’ll probably go to the Hippogriff’s Head, round the corner.”
“A pub lunch? Eugh. There’ll probably be insects in their soup.”
“Personally I think Doxies add a delicious texture to any meal,” Harry said. The look of horror on Malfoy’s face was entirely worth it. Malfoy was so busy having a silent aneurysm at the concept Harry had just presented him with that he didn’t notice where they were going until they were there.
Harry knocked on Ron’s door. “Ron? You busy, mate?”
Ron was unusual in the department in having an office rather than a cubicle; the number of pranks he’d suffered after his wife’s run of Stop Auror Brutality editorials, and his few anti-corruption cases, demanded it. Harry was fairly sure that Ron enjoyed this special treatment, and therefore mocked him about it relentlessly.
“What?” Malfoy demanded. His tone suggested he was inches from using a horrible blood-related slur, or ordering Harry to iron his fingers. “I’m not having lunch with Weasley! He’ll probably eat from a trough like the pig he is – ”
“Harry,” Ron said, opening the door with his usual grin. “Got your trainee yet?”
“Oh yes,” Harry said grimly, and looked around. Malfoy was standing behind the door and aiming his wand.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Harry snapped, grabbing Malfoy round the wrist and dragging him forward. “Look at this, Ron. I’m teaching the ferret.”
Ron blinked at them both for a few seconds, while Malfoy twisted his wrist and tried to look as if he wasn’t, and Harry refused to let go. Then Ron started to laugh.
“Seriously? Bloody hell, Harry!”
“Shut it, Weasley,” Malfoy snapped. “I don’t see what’s so funny about this.” Harry rather agreed with him, and since there seemed no imminent danger of a fistfight, he let go of Malfoy’s wrist. Malfoy instantly drew the wrist to him and rubbed the slightly pink skin, pouting a little.
“You don’t?” said Ron, grinning. “You never did have much of a sense of humour. I suppose calling people names is highest comedy to a Slytherin.”
“That’s rich coming from you, since Gryffindors wouldn’t know witty repartee if it bit them. You lot just set off the latest Weasley Wheeze and give a belly-laugh.”
Harry could see it coming: Ron was going to say something about how Malfoy wasn’t above using Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes when it suited him, and once that night was mentioned this conversation could only go downhill. “I don’t think it’s that funny either. I’m going to have him following me around for six weeks, Ron!”
“True,” Ron agreed cheerfully. “But since the Aurors get to evaluate how their trainees are doing, you can probably make him shut up and bring you tea like an idiot little intern.”
“The marks aren’t worth that!” Malfoy spat. “Try to make me get you tea, Potter, and there will be quite a few ‘extra ingredients’.”
“You – ”
“Much as I love watching you two snarl at each other,” Ron interrupted, “I don’t miss my Hogwarts days all that much. Let’s get to the pub.”
“Oh joy,” Malfoy muttered to himself, as they headed into the lift. “Grease and Weasley table manners.”
“Aww, don’t worry, princess,” Ron cooed. Harry was fairly sure he didn’t pat Malfoy’s head only because Malfoy was the type that bit. “You don’t have to get a pint. The barman knows us; he’ll make a nancy cocktail with an umbrella, just for you.”
“Ha ha, I’m girly because I’m bi, I’ve never heard that before. Truly, you are a master of wit.”
“It’s being married to Hermione that does it,” Ron said smugly. He and Malfoy kept snarking back and forth, while Harry blinked a little. He’s bisexual? I’ve never seen –
At this point, Harry’s brain presented him with an image of the proof he’d never seen: Malfoy being shagged against a wall by some random black-haired bloke. He could feel his face flushing, so pushed the image away quickly and asked Ron how his day was going.
They settled themselves in the Hippogriff’s Head with a minimum of fuss. The moment when Alan, the barman, had asked Harry if Malfoy was his new boyfriend had been humiliating, but entirely worth it for Malfoy’s face.
Ron continued to be cheerfully mocking all through lunch. Harry joined in more as Malfoy’s face started to go pink, and his mouth pouted. Malfoy snapped a smart remark back every so often, but he was obviously aware that Ron had had a point: Harry did have a certain amount of power over him. Harry munched his toad in the hole and watched the carnage.
“So why did you go into training so late, Malfoy?” he asked eventually. Malfoy had almost vanished from public life in the wake of the war. Harry had assumed he was just avoiding public condemnation, and would reappear in a few months, sarcastic and arrogant as ever. It hadn’t happened. He’d disappeared from Harry’s life, leaving a peculiar void. This sudden reappearance was still throwing him for a loop. At least Malfoy looked mostly the same as he had eleven years ago, which made the situation slightly less unnerving.
It was a little annoying, though. Harry knew he himself didn’t look very old, but Malfoy’s pale skin was barely marked by time, and he was as slim as ever. Bastard.
“Yeah, Malfoy,” Ron said through a mouthful of chicken. “What’ve you been doing all this time? I suppose pampered brats like you are allowed to spend a decade pissing about before they start doing anything with their lives.”
“We are lucky that way,” Malfoy agreed, the only sign of annoyance his tightening lips. Harry realised he was staring at Malfoy’s mouth, and quickly looked away. “It means we don’t end up peaking at seventeen as a side-kick and ending up a married man with a paunch, forever looking back on our glory days.”
“Lucky, since your kind doesn’t seem to have glory days so much as ‘spat on by everyone’ days.”
“Steady on, Ron,” Harry said with a slight frown. Malfoy slanted a quick, grey-eyed glance his way. Harry thought it might be gratitude.
He engaged Ron in a discussion about the Chudley Cannons. Malfoy frowned a few times, looking as if he was bursting to say something scathing about the Cannons’ tactics in general and their last match in particular, but he stayed silent. It was odd, having a glaring blond presence sitting in on the usual, genial pub-lunch-with-Ron dynamic. To his surprise, Harry found himself wishing not so much that Malfoy wasn’t there, as that he’d talk. A silent Malfoy was just too odd, and at least he could keep up with them on Quidditch talk.
Unfortunately, the silence couldn’t last. It was obviously bothering Ron too; he started giving Malfoy suspicious glances more and more often. Finally, Malfoy snapped.
“Stop giving me that look, Weasley. If you want to know why I’m being quiet, it’s because I poisoned your chicken while you were in the loos and I’m waiting to see how long it is before you collapse.”
Ron choked.
Malfoy started to laugh.
After a few seconds, Harry fought down the urge to laugh himself. Malfoy was laughing even harder now, and Ron was red in the face with mingled anger and embarrassment. “Shut up, Malfoy! Merlin, what kind of Auror trainee makes death threats?”
“The special kind.” Malfoy got his giggles under control, but he was still smiling widely. It was the first time Harry had seen him smile properly all day.
“Like special needs?”
“Ron!” Harry said. “Shouldn’t you be giving me friendly advice to keep calm?”
“That’s Hermione’s job,” said Ron with a shrug. “But all right, I can be calm.” He turned a false smile on Malfoy. “It’s okay to be a late bloomer,” he cooed. “Don’t worry about being ten years older than everyone else on the training programme.”
Two points of pink appeared on Malfoy’s sharp cheekbones. His pale eyes narrowed, and Harry wondered if a brawl would result in them being banned.
“At least I’m still enjoying my youth,” Malfoy said. “How boring are you, for fuck’s sake? I know you and Granger were playing at couples all through Hogwarts, but you’re Old Marrieds already! Tell me, is your dear wife as fat as your mum yet?”
“You – ”
“Time to go!” Harry grabbed Malfoy’s upper arm and tugged him up as he went. “I’ll see you later, Ron. I’m sorry. I should have controlled him better.”
“Controlled me how? Stop treating me like an animal!”
“Stop acting like a particularly stupid bull!” Harry pulled Malfoy from the pub, and slammed the door behind them. “That was a horrible thing to say, Malfoy. Bringing his wife and his mother into it with one insult? You’re lucky I didn’t leave you to get beaten up.”
“I’d have pounded him,” Malfoy muttered, but he went quiet. The walk back to the Ministry was conducted in stubborn silence. Harry glared at the world as he walked, stewing over Malfoy’s rudeness and the way he’d spoilt their lunch. When they got to the Ministry, Harry reached out to stop Malfoy going in.
“Malfoy?” he said, very quietly.
“What?”
“If you insult Ron again, I will make you call me sir. I will do it until the end of your training, and I will do it in public.”
Malfoy stared at him, eyes going wide and shocked. His face, after a moment, went splotchy pink. “Fine,” he said, in a low voice. He looked humiliated, and Harry felt a little horrified at just how much that pleased him.
“Good,” he said coldly, and turned away. He checked the coin he was meant to carry around, but usually forgot and left sitting on his desk. The mass usage of coins for sending messages had been instituted a year after Harry became an Auror, with the advent of Dumbledore’s Army alumni joining the force en masse.
The message called all the senior Aurors into a meeting room. It didn’t give a reason. His pulse sped up a little, and Harry felt he’d reached that place he could almost live in: like playing Quidditch, when his body was working just a little faster than life and spells were leaping through his head and he was ready to fight.
“Come on,” he snapped out at Malfoy, already leaving. Malfoy gave a heavy sigh that made him sound like a petulant teenager, but followed.
The meeting room was fairly heavily warded, but not set up for emergencies: this was a problem, but not a crisis of the kind that made memories of the war flare up behind people’s eyes. When he entered, Harry went to talk with a few of his colleagues, who had all got here first. Harry scratched the back of his neck and hemmed when Alice asked where he’d been.
As it turned out, the other senior Aurors didn’t know what was going on either, but they were more than happy to discuss the effect of having the new trainees around. A few of them were scattered around the room, attached to their respective Aurors. Except for Malfoy, of course, who’d quickly sidled away and had a speedy conversation with Tim’s trainee, Akiko, and another trainee Harry didn’t recognise. Harry could guess what he was talking about: Malfoy messing up his hair and puffing out his chest usually meant he was doing his ‘I’m Such A Gigantic Hero Man’-Harry impression. Akiko and the other girl were laughing.
Robert Garner, head of the Auror department for the last few years, came in before Harry got the chance to complain about Malfoy much. Harry called Malfoy over before the announcements could begin. He came, with a distinctly ill-tempered expression on his pointy face.
“Don’t just call and expect me to come! I’m not a dog, Potter!”
“No, you’re pretty much an intern, and that’s lower than a dog. Now shut up, some of us care about making the world a better place.”
Mary, a friend of Harry’s, gave him a startled look. Colour rose on Malfoy’s cheeks as if he’d been slapped, but he stayed quiet. Harry felt a little guilty, but was glad. His nerves were frayed enough that he thought snappishness was justified. Stupid Malfoy, training to be an Auror and being bi and doing impressions of Harry so all the trainees would think he was an idiot.
“Okay, guys,” Robert said, making the room go quiet. “You’ll be aware that certain vampiric groups have been agitating for equal rights, that sort of thing, with the support of the redoubtable Miss Granger.” Harry stepped on Malfoy’s foot before he could say anything, and then watched with a smirk while Malfoy tried not to make a pained noise. “Unfortunately, we’ve become aware of certain, more dangerous groups of vampires, which wish to take revenge on wizarding society for its treatment of them. A group called Fang Fighters – ”
“Sounds like a band,” Malfoy whispered, and Harry tried not to laugh.
“– sent out a press release today, threatening society at large, and the Ministry establishment in particular. They say they have a hiding place in wizarding London itself, though we’re not sure how seriously to take that claim. We’re going to be trying to find them, obviously, now they’ve threatened violence. However, at this point it’s probably more important to have an Auror presence on the streets; public panic could do more damage than the vampires themselves. I’ll want some of you out in Diagon Alley and Knockturn, interviewing shopkeepers.”
“Me and Malfoy’ll take Diagon and Knockturn,” Harry said immediately. Walking the cobbles was the duty most likely to end in bloody battle with the vampires, after all. Besides, if Malfoy pissed him off on Diagon Alley, Harry could shove him into a barrel of newt eyes and passers-by would just laugh.
“Yeah,” Malfoy agreed. At Harry’s look, he said, “this whole department smells of righteousness. It’s starting to make me ill. I have to visit Knockturn Alley or I’ll think all human life has value by the end of the week.”
~*~
At the end of the meeting, copies of the vampires’ press release were passed around. Harry and Malfoy leant over their shared one. Harry made an irritated noise, and hoped Malfoy hadn’t noticed that Harry was smelling his hair. It didn’t smell of much, just hair and expensive shampoo, but something about the musk sent a flash of lust through his body.
“They really aren’t scared, are they? This is pretty bloody stuff.”
Harry blinked in confusion, and felt a pang of disappointment when Malfoy pulled away and took his smell with him.
Oh. Murderous vampires. Right.
“Your spouses and children are not safe,” Malfoy read. “Those who try to oppose us will return from their battles to find those they love screaming under a vampire. Sexy,” he said, and smiled wickedly because he was an irreverent bastard who thought murder was funny.
Harry tried to stop snickering.
He leant over to see the parchment, feeling he should be productive. “I suppose that’s the ‘threatening the Ministry establishment’ part,” he said. “See: do not think we will only target the most vulnerable. We will drink deeply of old families, of sweetest pure blood. Maybe we should use you as bait, eh Malfoy?”
Malfoy squeaked. It was almost unbearably cute, and Harry fought down a grin as Malfoy snatched the parchment away. “No, no, that’s not a good plan,” said Malfoy. “Silly vampires, they’re just being hyperbolic. There’s no difference between my blood and everyone else’s!”
“Oh really?” Harry said archly.
Malfoy flushed. “Shut up.”
Harry wanted to keep teasing him, but murderous vampires, unfortunately, had to take precedence over making Draco Malfoy blush. “Stupid rules,” he muttered to himself.
“What was that?” Malfoy said absently, peering at the parchment and stealing Julia Miles’ quill so he could make notes. She slapped his hand, and he smiled sunnily and refused to give it back.
Harry coloured a bit. “Er, I said ‘stupid rules.’”
“Of course you did,” Malfoy said tartly, not looking up from his notes. “Tell me, are there any rules in this department you haven’t bent? Or to be more accurate, haven’t stamped into tiny pathetic pieces?”
Harry opened his mouth in outrage, and tried not to panic when nothing came to mind. “Er...I’ve never hurt or killed a suspect in custody.”
Malfoy’s eyes dragged up from his parchment, over Harry, until he met Harry’s eyes. Harry tried not to fidget under the grey gaze. “Bravo,” Malfoy said. His voice was dry enough to parch the Amazon.
“It’s not like you’re a big fan of rules yourself, Malfoy,” Harry shot back. A thread of amusement was running through his voice, like a shining, horribly inappropriate thread in a drab tapestry. “I played Quidditch against you, remember?”
“Oddly enough, I do.” Malfoy’s voice was wry, and the smile tugging at his thin, mobile mouth was still there. Harry smiled back at it while Malfoy returned to his paperwork, then realised he’d been staring at Malfoy’s mouth again and quickly averted his gaze. Really, it hadn’t been that long since he’d had sex.
“So that’s a definite no on being bait? I’ve done it before, it’d be easy for you. You just sit there and scream helplessly when the bad guys grab you.”
“Yes, but what about the part where my noble colleagues leap in to save me? I am not putting my life in your hands, Potter.”
“I’ve done okay with that before,” Harry pointed out. The scowl faltered on Malfoy’s face, as if the expression had been knocked off-balance.
“True. But still, I don’t think it’s practical. No being bait for me. The vampires would see my pale perfection and bite down right away, you’d never get there before they were picking me out of their fangs.”
“Or maybe they’d turn you.”
“Ooh, yes!” Malfoy looked excited; Harry tried not to think it was endearing. “And I could be a sexy, evil vampire and ravish lots of maidens. Or virginal youths, I suppose, but they’re not so likely to be wearing the traditional lacy white nightgown.”
“Not really. I suppose it’s for the best that we make sure you don’t become a vampire. Or get all your blood drunk before we can save you, if you really think that would happen.”
“It would,” Malfoy insisted. “They are rabid beasts, Potter, they would leap and eat me, and it would be messy. When I was laid out in state for the public to weep over my robes would be stained, the whole thing would be very unattractive. Not that it’s not understandable,” he added thoughtfully. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to suck on my neck?”
Harry made a vague noise, and moved his chair a little further under the table.
~*~
It didn’t take Harry long to read the vampires’ press release. It didn’t take Malfoy long either, but after he’d finished reading it, he reread it and made more notes with his stolen quill. Harry wasn’t really good at analysing documents or picking up on telling psychological quirks or any of that stuff; he did better when he could hear people’s voices, having made a long career out of eavesdropping. So he lounged in his chair and watched Malfoy do it. After a while he thought he should contribute, since he was the one getting paid to do this.
“Why don’t we visit the lab tomorrow? They’ll have looked at the original parchment for clues, it might help us put something together.”
“Oh, definitely.” Malfoy actually sounded a little excited at the idea of visiting the Aurors’ lab. It would probably feel like home to him, although the Aurors kept far fewer slimy things in jars than Snape had. “I suppose we’re off to Diagon Alley for now, though?”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed, wanting to stretch his legs and possibly behead bloodthirsty vampires. “We’d better ask the shopkeepers if they’ve seen anything.”
“Like what? Are we going to ask the sweetshop if they’ve had a run on blood-flavoured lollipops?”
“No,” Harry said absently, “those are usually eaten by the ones who have a willing donor, so they’re stuck on just one vintage. Come on.”
Malfoy followed him, and a few minutes later they were strolling out of the Leaky Cauldron. Malfoy’s trainee robes had a purple trim, but otherwise he looked just like another Auror, a partner to provide back-up. It was odd, to think he was expected to rely on Malfoy if needed; Harry poked at the thought, like investigating a loose tooth with a tongue, as they asked Madam Malkin if she’d seen anything suspicious.
He hadn’t seen Malfoy in action yet, and it was possible that the other man would go to pieces in a firefight and end up whimpering and clinging to Harry’s robes instead of cursing the enemy. After all, Angelica had said she had partnered trainees and Aurors according to the trainees’ weaknesses, and Harry’s strength had always been with action. Presumably that meant Malfoy had something to learn about duelling in the Aurors.
But he hadn’t failed out of Auror training. He couldn’t be doing that badly.
“Maybe we could go out tonight and try to scare up the vampires,” Malfoy said. It was odd hearing the phrase scare up in Malfoy’s cultured tones: it was one he must have learnt from Angelica, whose speech patterns imprinted themselves on every Auror. “I know Akiko would come, and maybe some of the others. Lucia, now, she’s every inch the blonde, virginal maiden. Well, maybe not so much virginal, but the vampires probably won’t realise that unless they’re up close – ”
“Sorry, I think I got lost amidst all that prattling,” Harry interrupted, not wanting to hear about this Lucia’s virginity or lack thereof. How did Malfoy know, either way? “Are you suggesting we take a bunch of trainees out to fight the evil terrorist vampires?”
“Yes, exactly.”
Harry felt a headache starting behind his eyes. “Malfoy, I know you’re not over-enthused about the concept of keeping people alive, but this is a bit much. If you lot rushed in, wands blazing, you’d be killed before you could say ‘law-enforcement entree.’”
“Bit rich coming from you – ”
“Which is why I know what I’m talking about.”
“Don’t be so patronising,” Malfoy snapped. “I may not like them all but don’t treat us like a litter of over-eager puppies. We’re not children, and we’re not idiots. We can help.”
“I’m sure. But you’re trainees, not actual Aurors. Take it from someone who did it: fighting evil without all the information is a bad plan.”
“I don’t need you to point that out, Potter! I’m not some idiotic Gryffindor just dying to get into the Auror corps and lose my first limb.”
Harry made an irritated noise that sounded like a blocked drain and steered Malfoy into Eeylops Owl Emporium. The shopkeeper wasn’t the woman Harry remembered from his schooldays, but a slim young black man with a smile that was attempting I Am Honoured To Assist The Aurors and getting We Don’t Actually Sell Vampire Bats, Ahahahaha instead. Still, the number of foreign imports the shop got meant that he might well have seen – or heard on the grapevine – something relevant. The Fang Fighters were locals, but most vampires weren’t, and this new bravery suggested something had changed. Maybe someone had gone on holiday to the Mother Country and brought back reinforcements.
He kept trying, and the bloke was polite enough, but didn’t come up with anything terribly interesting. Harry wanted to poke about a bit more, though – it was amazing what neighbours’ gossip could turn up – so he asked a few leading questions and scandal fell out of the other man’s mouth wholesale.
Malfoy wandered off to talk to the customers during all this; Harry would’ve thought that the gossip would interest him, but maybe Malfoys had a higher standard for scandal. He strolled up to a pretty girl with a lot of smooth dark hair, arranging himself against a glass display case and smiling at her.
Harry questioned how germane this was to the case.
After four minutes, Malfoy was having a bit of her ice-cream – licking it right off the cone, the tart! – and Harry was so busy glowering that he missed some of what the shopkeeper was telling him.
Harry was not putting up with this. Missing a vital clue because he was giving Draco Malfoy’s smile the side-eye would be dramatically non-heroic behaviour. He snorted to himself, said “pardon me,” and went to detach Malfoy from the girl and bring him back over.
“Malfoy. Leave the nice girl and her ice-cream and come and help me interview the shopkeeper, would you?”
Malfoy’s narrow face twisted into a scowl. “Sir, yes sir,” he said. Then he turned to the girl. “I’m sorry for my partner’s abrupt and condescending behaviour, Olivia. Enjoy your ice-cream.”
Harry winced in embarrassment; bloody Malfoy, knocking him off-balance without even trying. He attempted a smile for Olivia, who looked unimpressed, and led Malfoy back to the shopkeeper.
Unfortunately, the man was obviously wary and a little amused by now; Harry suspected his stamping over to reclaim his trainee had not been as authoritative and impressive as he might have hoped. They got nothing more, and ten minutes later Harry and Malfoy were standing outside the shop scowling at each other.
Harry tried to find a way of saying ‘look, my blinding rage at your ice-cream-sharing was distracting me from the case. And how much could that girl know, anyway?’ that would make him sound less of a nutter. Then he tried to find a way to apologise without having to say the word ‘sorry’.
Damn, he knew he should have paid more attention to the Wizengamot speeches.
“Potter, are you on muscle potions? They tend to cause rage and erratic behaviour, and sometimes hallucinations.” Malfoy paused. “Actually, have you been on them all along? It would explain a lot – ”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” interrupted Harry. He tried very hard to sound like a rational human being. “We’re on a case. Maybe interviewing people instead of making eyes at them or using nasty spells isn’t fun, but this matters. You’re meant to fight the bad guys with me, not wander off.”
Malfoy went pink, colour blossoming high on his cheeks, and dropped his eyes. Then he seemed to regain his essential Malfoy-ness and sneered. “If you ask me – ”
“Nobody did. You’re a trainee.”
“It’s not like you were doing so brilliantly with that shopkeeper, you know. He thought you were doolally.”
“Only because you distracted me!”
“At least now we don’t have to talk to the public any more. I don’t want to deal with the Great Unwashed any more than is absolutely necessary for our cases.”
“You’re such a snob! Anyway, that girl didn’t look like one of the Great Unwashed,” Harry said, and instantly hated himself.
Malfoy’s smirk widened, insinuating itself across his face. “Well, no. She had the good sense to be attracted to a Malfoy, you see. So much of the public is unhealthily attached to ideas of virtue.” He eyed Harry sardonically. “They tend to think the Auror combination of thick muscle and thick skulls is attractive.”
“Why did you even go in for training?” snapped Harry, at the end of his patience. “You hate the Aurors, you can’t stand the public, you loathe moral values...”
“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said in saccharine tones, his eyes widening theatrically. “I’m here to save lives, to protect the wizarding world, to be a dashing hero like yourself.”
Harry snarled incoherently, grabbed Malfoy’s weedy upper arm and dragged him along the pavement to the next shop. Malfoy was laughing and gasping and entirely failing to have the appropriate look of We’ll Do Everything We Can, Ma’am about him. He wasn’t anything like Harry’s other partners, who’d been members of the DA or former Gryffindors themselves.
It wasn’t until later that Harry wondered if Malfoy’s sarcastic tone had been hiding the truth.
~*~
Over the next week, Malfoy was infuriating, annoying, appalling – and strangely fascinating. There was little progress with the Fang Fighters investigation, and when Harry got tired of beating his head against it, he found his eyes travelling to the blond mystery sharing his cubicle. Malfoy seemed no less inexplicable, but he was prettier than most terrorist vampires and only his wit was biting.
Besides, when Harry was less of a bastard to him, he sometimes got a positive response, which didn’t seem to be the case with evil seducing monsters. Malfoy was stubbornly not proving himself an evil seducing monster, unfortunately, so self-restraint seemed like the best option. It was just a matter of holding himself back despite Malfoy’s incredible ability to be annoying.
And that was embarrassing. The sheer predictability of having developed a crush on his pretty blond trainee embarrassed Harry. That it was Malfoy, who would mock and snarl and jeer if he found out -- who Harry disliked for damn good reasons, whatever Hermione said, and who would laugh at sad, not-getting-any Potter who thought he had a chance... That was worse than embarrassing. That was close to mortifying.
But at least Harry could be interested in Malfoy’s peculiar decision to join the Aurors. His interest in the enigma of Malfoy wasn’t about sex. After all, he’d been obsessed by Malfoy’s strange life decisions in sixth year, and he hadn’t been attracted to him then, had he?
Anyway.
Tuesday morning saw them entering the chilly Aurors’ dungeon, where the tests to find physical traces of clues were done. (There was a Muggle word for it, but Harry always forgot.) The dungeon had once been an alchemists’ den, and the smell of scorched potions hung over it.
They had to wait while one of the Auror potioneers got the report on the Fang Fighters’ missives. Harry started to shiver almost immediately. The dungeon was kept cold to preserve the potion ingredients that lined its walls, and besides, the overwhelming sense of deja vu made him miserable. It seemed that at any moment Snape was going to swoop from some dark corner and start telling Harry about how inadequate he was.
Turning, Harry caught Malfoy’s wistful look as he gently touched a jar with a dead cat in it.
Apparently he wasn’t the only one experiencing deja vu.
“Here’s the report,” Malorie said, appearing out of the gloom. Harry flinched. Malorie was some sort of Weasley cousin, but her freckled wholesomeness had clearly been no impediment to her cultivating an ability to swoop about in black robes. “Not much to be found, unfortunately. Being dead means creating a lot less in the way of useful forensic hints. Still, there’s some stuff to follow up on... they’re definitely in London. It’ll be somewhere low on wood to lessen the chances of staking, probably built from stone… It should be possible to narrow things down from there.”
“Legwork is my life,” agreed Harry. “Cheers, Malorie.” He stuck the report in one large robe pocket, hearing the parchment crumple irreparably, and turned away. “Malfoy!”
Malfoy jumped and spun, his pale eyes wide.
“Stop molesting the little wooden drawers of dead things and come away, all right?”
Malfoy scowled, and said something very nasty. Harry resisted the temptation to say something horrible about Snape, and felt rather proud of himself.
Even if it did mean that Malfoy got the last word.
~*~
By eleven o’clock the next morning, Harry had found only four significant details in the dungeon report, but he’d doodled a lightning bolt, a little broom, and a Snitch. Then he drew a titchy Malfoy reaching for the Snitch and, appalled, decided enough was enough. A crush was natural enough, it happened a lot in a workplace where people saved each other’s lives this much, but drawing Malfoy getting to the Snitch instead of himself was surely a sign.
“Am I allowed to doodle too?” Harry jumped, and saw Malfoy stifle a smirk from across the cubicle. “I’m sure it’s an excellent Auror technique, and I am, after all, here to learn best practice.”
“Shut up.”
“Excellent retort.”
“‘Weasley was born in a bin’ was the best you could do when you were fifteen, don’t tell me about wit.”
“The lyrics needed to be easy to remember, you know, I was working with Goyle and -- ” Malfoy cut himself off. Harry felt a pang in his chest at the look on Malfoy’s face, an echo of grief. He pushed a cup of tea over silently. Malfoy sipped it and didn’t even complain about the brand.
“Well, doodling helps me work through all the clues in my mind. Anyway, I’m still waiting for word to come back on that inquiry with the Department of Mysteries. I’m not going down there to chivvy them along until after lunch, they’re nutters.”
Malfoy grinned. “Too true. D’you remember Lisa Turpin from school? She joined them and… man. Pansy’s last party -- I can’t even tell you half of it -- ”
“Yes you can, I’m your supervising Auror.”
“Who’s desperate for Slytherin gossip, apparently.”
“I had to put up with playing Quidditch against you dirty cheaters for six years, I should at least get some good stories out of it.”
“You do know that stuff about orgies in the dungeons was all a myth, right -- ”
Harry’s laugh rang out through the office. He hid behind some parchment as people turned to look.
“All right, while we’re waiting, let me teach you one of the great secrets of the Aurors.”
“Ooh,” Malfoy said, with less than total sincerity. “Let me just warn you, weird initiation ceremonies, I’ve been burned before, you know -- ”
Harry screwed up a requisitions form and threw it at him. “Shut up. We’re gonna play some table Quidditch.”
Malfoy’s eyes lit up. It turned out the unholy glee in his face was endearing when it wasn’t matched with Harry being horribly humiliated in some way. “Table Quidditch?”
“Yep. Okay so we each get three matchsticks, and you charm the ends different colours so you can tell which is which. Let’s start off with one each, though. Then we have a ball bearing -- ”
“A what?”
“Now you see why having Muggleborns around the office is a gift.” Harry produced matchsticks and a ball-bearing from a drawer. “The ball-bearing’s the Snitch, the matchsticks’re brooms. Whoever hits the ball-bearing with their matchstick first wins.”
“Brilliant.”
“There’s a catch -- you need to use wandless magic.”
Table Quidditch had originally been invented by Harry’s cohort of Auror recruits as a way to practice wandless magic. Wandless magic was usually only seen in children, before they got a wand and learnt to channel their magic properly, but adults could do it too - if they found the right level of control. It was one of the toughest things Harry had learnt in Auror training.
Even so, he was one of the best in the department on raw power in wandless magic. He rather hoped Malfoy would be impressed.
Harry turned the end of one matchstick green and put it on his desk in front of Malfoy. He put his own red one next to it, and cast the spells to make the ball-bearing into a tiny Snitch.
“All right, Malfoy. Game on!”
Harry’s matchstick careened into the air as the words left his lips. Malfoy swore and turned to stare at his Snitch, gesturing at it. It swung into the air.
Harry’s broomstick whizzed towards the ball-bearing but overshot it. He’d put too much power into it again. It could’ve been worse -- back in training he’d blown up plenty of matchsticks by mistake. Malfoy’s matchstick was jabbing towards the ball-bearing, not quite managing to hit it. The ball-bearing did a loop-the-loop around Harry’s quills, teasing them. Malfoy was ahead of Harry, his matchstick following the ball-bearing’s movements. By now they were both yelling at each other, leaning into each other’s shoulders to keep a clear view of the ball-bearing as it shot across the room. Then it swerved and Malfoy reacted faster.
“Yes!” yelled Malfoy. “Too slow, Potter!”
“No!” Harry yelped, but Malfoy’s matchstick was glowing: he’d won. Harry slumped back into his chair, laughing. Malfoy was punching the air, cheeks a little flushed.
“Beginner’s luck,” Harry told him.
“We’ll see,” Malfoy said. “Best of three?”
It became best of fifteen before their colleagues got sick of it and tried to hex them. Harry heroically stood in front of Malfoy, talking about how horrible they were to pick on a defenseless trainee, while Malfoy worked on an exciting pile of parchment projectiles combined with a slime-creating hex.
They ended up going down to the Department of Mysteries after all; the howls and avowals of vengeance were unnerving.
The Unspeakables were unspeakable, as ever, but somehow it wasn’t as bad with Malfoy making faces behind their backs while Harry tried to look serious. They ended up hiding from the other Aurors in a conference room, alternately working on the vampires case and playing table Quidditch. Malfoy growled every time Harry won which was hilarious, and spent a lot of time complaining that Harry had more firepower.
“It’s like a Cleansweep versus Firebolts,” he said, arms folded. He was pouting and Harry tried not to think any thoughts about his lower lip.
“Aw, that’s not true! It’s like the Nimbus 2000 versus a Firebolt. Massively better of course but it’s not a ridiculous gulf.”
“Whatever, Potter. Brute force isn’t enough. I’m all subtlety and control, my friend. I have magic fingers.” He fluttered said magic fingers at Harry and Harry burst out laughing.
“I’m sure you do,” he said, and was proud of himself for not even sounding strangled as he got the words out. “Still, subtlety?”
“I’m a sneaky Slytherin.”
“You were under suspicion at the end of fifth year so you publically told me you’d have me.”
Malfoy’s face went stiff for a second at the reminder, and Harry winced; then Malfoy leant back in his chair with a smirk. “And I will in the end.”
Harry bit down on “promise?” “You are good,” he admitted instead. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised; you were a good Occlumens even when we were kids, and that’s wandless magic.”
Malfoy looked startled. “How did you - ” He cut himself off, obviously realising the answer wouldn’t be something he wanted to talk about. “Well, my control’s getting better all the time with this practice. Unlike certain Falcons Keepers I could mention.”
“I know! And the rat bastard fouled against the Harpies last game and the ref didn’t even seem to notice.” “I have a theory the Falcons are buying her off with sexual favours.”
“Tell me about it, then.” He shouldn’t indulge Malfoy, probably; that’d just make him crazier, and besides trainees should be seen and not heard. Malfoy explained his theory, which got more eye-poppingly work-inappropriate as it went on. It inspired some useful vampire-hunting ideas, though, and Harry found himself roaring with laughter.
Malfoy looked pleased with himself. Harry grinned back at him and issued a lordly request for tea. Malfoy said something anatomically improbable and Harry threatened to give him detention. Then they made a shedload of progress on one of Harry’s other cases and Malfoy did the paperwork, grumbling.
Even so, by the end of the day, Harry was feeling distinctly grumpy because of Malfoy again. He met Ron in the queue for the Floo, and Ron clearly caught his expression. “Malfoy?”
“Yeah. Brat. He beat me twelve times at table Quidditch. He’s definitely cheating.”
“Definitely,” agreed Ron loyally. “You’re defending champion of the department still. And when has he ever beaten you at Quidditch?”
“Exactly!”
Harry stepped through the Floo feeling smug. The memory of Malfoy doing his Victory Dance on a chair, with an annoying smirk on his pointed face and far more hip movement than was appropriate for the office, stayed with him nonetheless.
By the end of the night, Harry gave in, and wanked. He pictured Malfoy naked and begging, then added handcuffs just for the sake of it. He still couldn’t lose the feeling that he was distinctly out of control.
Harry was up late, between worrying about the vampires and Malfoy and wondering what Malfoy’s nipples tasted like. He got into work late the next morning. Malfoy, instead of working away industriously at his little desk in Harry’s cubicle, had his pureblood arse parked on Mark’s desk and was telling him, Akiko and Jenny a joke.
“Malfoy.”
“Hello Potter,” Malfoy said, grinning. “Your hair’s even more of a disaster than usual, did someone tell you a horrible lie about effort being enough?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on, Malfoy.”
Malfoy was in an excellent mood all morning, trading ‘memos’ with Akiko. He seemed to blossom under the light of attention. Which, Harry reflected, shouldn’t have come as a surprise, really.
He left for lunch with Akiko, Mark and Jenny; Malfoy was already doing an impression as they left, and the lift closed on their laughter. Harry felt a bit left out. He went and dragged Ron out to remind himself that not having Malfoy’s focus wasn’t the same as not having any friends and told himself not to be so ridiculous.
He shouldn’t care this much about whether Malfoy was looking at him. But he was used to grabbing Malfoy’s attention whenever they encountered each other. And at least if they were glaring intensely at each other, it might be less obvious that Harry was watching the line of his throat.
Workplace crushes in the Aurors were common, intense, and usually very short-lived. Harry clung to this between bouts of dwelling on the way Malfoy’s scruff was so pale that you couldn’t see it unless it caught the light. Malfoy would only be working under him for a little while -- Harry wrenched his mind back from the pit of terrible innuendo it wanted to descend into -- and then he’d be gone. Nothing wrong with spending time with him in the meantime.
Malfoy might be funny, and clever, and like Quidditch, but there were lots of witches and wizards like that. It needn’t become anything important.
The next day, Harry asked Malfoy if he wanted to get lunch with him. Malfoy went still and startled for a moment, like prey waiting for the pounce; then he nodded, and his narrow mouth arrowed up his cheeks into a smile. “If I get to choose where we go.”
“Okay.”
Malfoy chose a tiny sushi place near the Ministry. “You might be a traditionalist, Potter, but all that stodge at Hogwarts has left me with a horror of pastry-based meals. Rice and fish with some spice suits me better.”
Harry shrugged. “It’s fine; I’m not a big fan, but I like everything, really.”
He didn’t hoard food any more, as he had throughout his first two years at Hogwarts, and he’d got over the urge to snap at anyone who tried to nick a chip off his plate. But even if something didn’t taste good – and the sushi did – Harry’s childhood meant that he was never going to refuse food. Never going to pass up the chance to feel full.
He was tempted for a moment to tell Malfoy that. After a moment the desire passed – easy time with Malfoy was too rare to disrupt – but the urge to tell someone anything about his life with the Dursleys surprised Harry.
Malfoy had a system about eating sushi. He ordered salmon nigiri and California rolls with the ease of habit, then set them up on one of the folding tables. Harry watched Malfoy’s narrow, pale hands as Malfoy squeezed soy sauce carefully over his food, letting it soak into the rice, and added a dollop of wasabi to each.
Malfoy looked up; his pale eyes caught Harry watching him, and pink bloomed on his cheeks. “What?”
“Nothing,” Harry said. Hearing something perilously close to fondness in his voice, he hastily filled his mouth with wasabi peas. He immediately regretted it, and Malfoy started to laugh as Harry choked.
Years of friendship with ink-stained yet meticulous Hermione, and hundreds of chess games with a Ron gone narrow-eyed and focussed, had taught Harry to find careful movement endearing. It was a nice change after Dudley’s vicious carelessness and the chaos of fighting bad guys.
But Malfoy had always had that reptilian focus on whatever he was doing at the time; usually something nasty. He hadn’t changed. It was ridiculous for Harry’s reaction to have changed so much.
Malfoy’s fingertips were stained with soy sauce, Harry noticed.
He tried not to be disappointed when Malfoy cleaned them with a napkin instead of his tongue.
*
Ron invited Harry for dinner that night. Neville came along with his girlfriend, a funny French witch with the most amazing Afro Harry had ever seen. They struggled through some of Hermione’s execrable stroganoff -- cookbooks were the only kind of books Hermione didn’t get along with -- until Ron offered to go to the chippy. Hermione hit out at him, laughing, her cheeks flushed from Butterbeer. Neville went with him, and Hermione and Renata got into a long conversation about Neville’s mad family and the difficulties of mixing Muggle and pureblood relatives. Harry listened happily enough, but soon drifted.
God, imagine trying to do Meeting The Parents with the Malfoys. Mrs Malfoy already saved his life once; maybe she’d want to make a job of it and keep Lucius at bay. At least the Aurors had gone through the Manor after the war, so Lucius hopefully wouldn’t have any untraceable poisons on hand.
What was he thinking?
“Harry, are you all right?” said Hermione.
“I’m fine! Fine.”
Hermione eyed him dubiously. “If you say so.”
“Potentially going mad due to a dark wizard, but I’ve thought that before and it’s always worked out okay.”
“Ah,” she said, grinning. “Ron told me about Malfoy.”
Ron could not possibly have told her about this.
~*~
The next day was Thursday. The department was getting nowhere on the vampires, but Harry and Malfoy took care of three of the department’s burglary cases at once, in the person of Hadrian Cooper. They went to his workplace, which was the kind of dodgy apothecary in Knockturn that Harry usually didn’t bust for Gollyweed possession in return for information. They walked in and Cooper saw them.
“Stay calm, all right, do the intelligent thing -- ” Malfoy said. He was interrupted by Cooper hurling a glass of eyeballs at them. Harry ran straight through the exploding glass with his eyes shut and chased Cooper through the apothecary’s storeroom, dodging spilled jars and small explosions as he went. Cooper kept bringing down overstuffed, narrow sets of shelves behind him, slowing Harry down. Harry swore as Cooper opened the back door.
Malfoy wrapped Cooper in enchanted ropes. Cooper fell backwards. Malfoy, standing in the doorway, was backlit and Harry couldn’t see his expression, only his light-limned pale hair. But he sensed a sneer.
“I don’t know which of you is stupider, frankly.”
Not quite the spirit of deference one might hope for. “Quiet in the field, trainee.”
“I’m the one who obeyed the actual field manual! And got him.”
“It was a team effort, I scared him into you,” said Harry.
Malfoy snorted, and they took Cooper back to headquarters. Garner said “nice work, trainee,” as they passed, and Malfoy beamed.
They did the paperwork together, and a few Aurors paused as they passed Harry’s cubicle to congratulate the two of them. Harry half-expected Malfoy to rip into them for patronising him or sneer about how he didn’t need handholding. Instead he went all quietly satisfied; he didn’t say anything, just smiled quietly down at his report when he thought Harry couldn’t see.
Although that might also have been getting to call Harry an idiot who couldn’t follow procedure with a roadmap in something official.
“Stop talking about following the rules!” Harry spluttered. “You used to practise your fouls at school - ”
“And look where that got me,” Malfoy said, his voice unexpectedly sharp. “It’s a miracle I’m not planning Cooper’s welcome party from Azkaban right now. I do learn eventually, you know.”
Harry blinked. Malfoy looked up, and sent him a slanting grin; almost a peace offering, though it was needle-sharp. “Besides. Following the rules is how I get to make every Auror who sneered at me congratulate me. I don’t have the luxury of getting there any way I can.”
Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can see that.”
Malfoy’s smile relaxed into a real, wide grin, and Harry blinked like he’d looked directly at the sun. “Showing people you’re nothing like they thought you were, that they don’t know you from the papers… I bet you know what that’s like.”
“Yeah, I do, but… it’s not really fun. It’s - I’m not what they expect, not usually, and they end up kind of disappointed.”
Malfoy looked like he was bursting to say something horrible. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Say it.”
“Everyone is disappointed by actually meeting you, Potter, especially the women who foolishly expect a hero with a mighty weapon - ”
Harry laughed, unable to help himself. “No mighty weapons in the office, Malfoy. And it’s men, actually. But I thought you’d know -- speaking of stuff about our lives being in the papers.”
Malfoy leant back in his chair and smoothed his hair, affecting an expression that was even more lordly than usual. “I spent a while throwing the Prophet across the room every time I caught a glimpse of your scruffy head. I’m sure you understand.”
“I did the same thing for a while, actually. They said such stupid stuff about me.”
“Harry Potter is so brave and heroic and marvellous - ”
“Well exactly!” Harry said loudly. Malfoy stared. “And they’d come up to me and ask me how I did it, and I didn’t know what to say - I never know what to say, I can’t talk about it. Do they want me to tell them about battle, about going to murder someone? About casting Unforgivables and seeing my friends - And, and they send their kids up to me to get an autograph and I’m terrible with kids.”
“I can’t tell you how very surprised I am,” Malfoy said. He didn’t look shocked by Harry’s outburst, just calmly mocking, like always. “Mostly because I’m not. I’m great with kids.”
“You’re an only child. You’re the only-iest child I know.”
“I have a nurturing soul.”
“Come with me to Sunday dinner with the Weasleys,” Harry suggested with cheerful cruelty. “Some of Ron’s brothers have kids, they’d love to have help.”
“Er. On Sundays I have Dark Wizards Anonymous.”
“Very anonymous, I’m sure. That hair’s like a beacon.” Harry reached over and tugged a strand of it -- so soft it almost slid out of his fingers. Malfoy slapped his hand away with a scandalised expression.
“You may have the hair of a wild animal but I take care of mine! Paws off!” Harry backed off and Malfoy looked a little gloomy. “You’re right, though. It’s like taking a white-blond sign that says ‘please curse me’.”
“Do people actually -- ”
“Not any more.” Malfoy’s eyes were pale and calm and reflective, a silver pool. You couldn’t see what lay beneath, not really. “I wear my Auror trainee robes out a lot.”
Harry had too, back then, but for different reasons; he’d wanted to blend in with the others, one of a team. Maybe the captain of the team -- but not a One by himself, chosen or otherwise.
He asked Malfoy to the Hippogriff’s Head after work. After a fraught pause, Malfoy nodded. He was still pleased from their arrest, and went even more liquidly relaxed at the pub, working his way through a pint and collecting congratulations. Harry tried not to watch his mouth while he talked.
Going for another round, Harry got trapped at the bar by three Brummie wizards. This didn’t usually happen at the Hippogriff’s Head, it was a Ministry pub, but here were three tourists and they were so pleased to meet the Boy Who Lived.
“We heard about the killer vampires!” one exclaimed.
“Aren’t most vampires killer…?”
“You must be getting ready to storm the barricades! Blood, fire…” The wizard mimed swinging a sword.
“Excellent!”
Harry felt rather sick. Soon they’d ask him about progress and what he was going to do, and the Aurors hadn’t got that far yet. He certainly wouldn’t be going in alone to tackle them; he’d learnt his lesson about that sort of thing very early on in his training, when he’d rushed off to save the day automatically and then almost been killed because Ron and Hermione weren’t there.
And when they heard that and got bored, they’d thank him for killing Voldemort and ask how he’d done it. Harry could see it all coming but he was tired, a little drunk, trapped against the bar by the Thursday night crush and these wizards’ hopeful faces. He needed to make it go away somehow, stop them asking about the Battle of Hogwarts or Dumbledore --
“Hello there,” came an unmistakable drawl. The Brummie wizards turned, and behind them was Malfoy. “What a pleasure to meet some of Potter’s fans.” Malfoy’s smile was chill and awful, and he made a strange little gesture, a subtle shake of his head. Bemused, Harry recognised it: it was Lucius’ gesture of shaking long hair back.
“Draco Malfoy?” one of the wizards said, sounding as if he dearly hoped he was wrong.
“Why, yes! You’ve heard of me too, have you?” Malfoy’s voice was smooth, a little deeper than usual, and death-cold as a shark’s eyes. His imitation of his father was dead on. “Do you know what I did in the war?”
A small, lethal pause, and the wizards were making their excuses and rushing for the exit.
Harry gave a sigh of relief at being rescued. “Cheers, Malfoy.”
Malfoy shrugged. “I just did it for fun. The murderous Malfoy reputation’s got to be good for something, right?”
Harry caught his arm before he could dive back into the crowd. “I. Look, you’re really annoying, just incredibly, and your approach to this whole Auror thing isn’t as altruistic or as Dark-Arts-free as I’d like…”
“We’re off the clock, I don’t have to listen to your stupid opinions about me - ”
“Wait, no, that’s not what I meant! What I meant was… they’re still wrong about you, those blokes. You’re not evil. Not at all.”
Malfoy paused, staying still in Harry’s light grip. “Well. What a grand compliment,” he said. His tone wasn’t half as sharp as the words, though; he sounded almost bewildered.
Harry released him, and for a split second Malfoy stayed frozen, blinking at Harry with wide grey eyes, before lowering his arm and returning to the others. Harry followed after a moment, juggling beers, and found Malfoy trying to coax everyone into doing a conga line with him. Harry laughed, and agreed to do it with him if enough other people joined in.
Harry reminded himself that there were plenty of other people in the world who were funny. And Ginny’s charm hadn’t been exhausting to watch the way Malfoy’s occasionally was, while he worked so hard to get the other Aurors on his side.
There weren’t many other people who understood about the Prophet, though. The exhaustion of meeting people who thought they knew you, and deciding to meet or defy their expectations. Feeling the shadow of the Boy Who Lived or the young Death Eater behind you.
Besides, he was – different. Except not. Harry spent a worrying amount of time that night contemplating how Malfoy was the same little git he’d always been, and how he was that pale ghost flinching from Voldemort’s gaze, and how he wasn’t either of those two things but someone quite different, which was disconcerting.
It was odd when Harry went in to work on Friday, and Malfoy wasn’t there: the trainees had a day off on Fridays, ostensibly so that they could revise. Harry had got used to having him around. Usually he couldn’t bear having a partner around all the time while he worked: they made his skin itch with frustration, and a day of paperwork always ended with Harry snarling through gritted teeth at his largely inoffensive partner. He’d only ever been able to investigate easily with Ron and Hermione.
But it wasn’t like that with Malfoy, when Harry had expected it to be much worse: the few times they’d been partners in Potions it had certainly been disastrous. Somehow they fit together after all, lock and key.
“Potter!”
Harry was rather glad to be interrupted in this mad train of thought until he turned and saw Collins’ face. “The vampires sent us another threat, and this time we have a deadline. We need everything you’ve got so far and everyone on deck.”
“Take my notes,” he said, standing and grabbing his cloak in one movement. “I’ll be right back with Malfoy.”
He headed out of the Ministry to Apparate, his heart pounding and his world going narrow and focussed with adrenaline. The strangest part was that it barely felt strange to be waiting for Malfoy’s shoulder against his.
~*~
Harry knocked on his door, and waited. No answer.
He was halfway through his second knock when he decided that Malfoy obviously wasn’t coming, and used three illegal spells to get through Malfoy’s wards.
Hopefully Malfoy had grown out of telling the Prophet things about him. If Hermione found out he was using those spells without a warrant, she’d do a number of terrible things to him. The editorial about the immoral, illegal behaviour of those charged with maintaining the rule of law for wizarding Britain would be the least of it.
The door swung open, and Harry stepped into the thickly carpeted corridor. His body automatically shifted into silence as he moved: if Malfoy caught him breaking in and managed to bring him down, Harry’s pride would never recover. He strained his ears for a sound to tell him where Malfoy was.
If Harry could sneak up on him, maybe pounce and make him scream, he would never let Malfoy live it down.
He caught a sound, small and muted by a closed door. He listened, and it came again: a pained moan. Malfoy was moaning.
Shit! What if the vampires have got to him? The strained sound grew, getting louder as Harry crept closer to the door it was coming from. He charmed the door to silence, sweat prickling on his forehead. A hoarse groan suddenly erupted from behind the door. Harry gripped his wand, and slipped the door open.
It was Malfoy’s bedroom, and Malfoy was quite safe. He was lying on his bed, stark naked. Wanking.
Oh God. He wasn’t in pain, he was – Harry stood and stared for a long moment, and he couldn’t pretend to himself it was due to shock. Malfoy was stretched out, all his pale, soft skin on display. His cock was red against his pale stomach, his hips rolling. His chest was flushed pink and shining with sweat, and so was his face. It looked strained; Malfoy’s eyes fluttered shut as he bit his lower lip. He made a tiny sound, and bucked, throwing his head back and exposing his sweat-slicked throat. The urge to lick it was so strong Harry actually had to look away for a moment.
That instant of looking away from Malfoy let Harry regain his self-control. Shame abruptly hit him and he lunged for the door. What was he doing, standing there getting an eyeful when Malfoy had no idea he was there? Harry’s sneaking was less successful on the way out; luckily Malfoy seemed too preoccupied to notice the small scuff of Harry’s shoes on the hall carpet.
He staggered back out of Malfoy’s flat and stood on the doorstep, trying to find his misplaced ability to cope. He momentarily wished Ron was there, and then realised how mad he was at this moment.
Harry noticed he was compulsively tugging at his hair, trying to tidy it, and brought his hands down with a snort. He knocked on Malfoy’s front door. Loudly. Harry kept knocking, feeling frustration begin to trickle in, making his skin feel tight and angry. Anger was easier than anything else. He threw a storm of blows against the wood, feeling his knuckles start to hurt. After four minutes and thirty-eight seconds (Harry counted very precisely in his head so he wouldn’t picture Malfoy’s orgasm) a fully-clothed, angry-eyed Malfoy threw open the door.
“What?”
Harry’s mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. He couldn’t quite speak, staring at the angry, closed-up face he’d seen so recently with a soft mouth moaning and bright eyes.
“What?” Malfoy snapped again. “Why on earth have you come pounding on my door like the world is ending? I assume something important is happening. Have the vampires killed someone?”
That question managed to pull Harry out of his fugue. “Not yet. They sent another missive to the Ministry, and this one says they’ll destroy a high-ranking Ministry official during the next twenty-four hours. We need to find them – there are too many people it could be.”
Malfoy nodded. “Don’t think I’m pleased with you for being so insanely knocker-happy, Potter, but I’m with you. Let’s go.”
They started walking fast towards the Apparition point. Malfoy was speaking as they went, obviously already thinking hard about their case. It was urgent, Harry knew that. But every gesture, every hand motion and tossed head and movement of mouth mesmerised him, threw him back into that room. He turned his head and stared determinedly at the pavement in front of him. He could do this if he just didn’t look at Malfoy.
“If it says ‘destroy’ specifically that might not even mean killing some important official. There are plenty of other ways to destroy a man than killing him – take it from me. They did threaten the families, so my guess is they plan to kill some poor person’s spouse and kids. But they might want to blackmail them or something – if it’s a Wizengamot member, that might even work. There are too many variables, that’s the trouble.”
Harry made a vague noise. Malfoy flapped a hand, hitting Harry’s arm lightly; Harry jumped a mile at the contact. “Am I talking to myself here?”
“No, no,” Harry said quickly. “I think you’re right.” He did, too; of course, he wasn’t thinking very clearly just now. “I think we need to concentrate on finding them before they can do anything they threatened – or maybe we can hold some of their people hostage, get the rest to come in peacefully. Their message was sent directly to the Ministry and the wizards and witches in the lab are looking at it, so maybe they’ll find enough evidence that we’ll have a better idea of where to look.”
“We can only hope,” Malfoy said. He slanted a caustic glance at Harry. “This had better not become one of the Aurors’ myriad excuses for raiding random parts of Knockturn Alley.”
“Nah, there’s no evidence linking the vampires to Knockturn. There’s not much evidence linking them to anywhere, really.”
Malfoy snorted. “And also, Granger would stake the Auror department out in the sun and flay it in every editorial. Fear will do what principles can’t every time.”
Harry scowled; it was an incredibly irritating thing to say, and more so because he didn’t have a good answer. He muttered something, then curled a hand round Malfoy’s upper arm to guide him into the alley where they’d Apparate.
Malfoy’s arm tensed under his hand; Harry felt a twist of lust at the swell of muscle for a moment before Malfoy shrugged out of his grip, scowling. “Stop tugging me about, Potter! I’m not a child, you don’t need to push me to make sure I go where you want.”
Harry bit back his instinctive reply and nodded: he’d have been annoyed himself, after all.
He Apparated before he could start swearing.
It was ridiculous. Sublimated lust had his heart pounding, and he was annoyed with himself for not giving such a serious case his full attention. But he had to get control of himself, or he’d lose focus. Get someone killed.
The Auror offices were bustling; everyone had been called in, some wearing weekend robes and weary faces. Bustling wasn’t the right word, Harry decided as he led Malfoy to one of the main meeting rooms, which was scattered with parchment and people trying to work out where the vampires might be hiding. Bustling implied a very different sort of atmosphere from the one which prevailed now. This was edgy, energised, waiting for news but restless. This was flickering gazes and lips moving as Aurors skimmed or trawled through the evidence again. The Aurors were too well-trained for hysteria, but controlled urgency was in every movement.
Harry couldn’t concentrate. This was important work, but every time he glanced at Malfoy he saw him naked and spread-legged in his mind’s eye. Harry flushed, shifting uncomfortably in the horrible prickly-cushioned office chair, and tried to ignore it.
He tried sending Malfoy off to get them all tea. Malfoy scowled at him but obeyed, apparently deciding that fetching tea was less damaging to his dignity than having a room of trigger-happy Aurors shout at him. For five blissful minutes Harry could focus, his brain working steadily through the possibilities. Then Malfoy was back and blowing on his tea to cool it down, pink lips pursed, and Harry crunched the bit of parchment he was holding into a ball.
Malfoy had a map of central London in front of him. He was covering it in explicable pins, golden and raspberry and striped blue-and-green. He bit his lip, concentrating, and Harry choked on air.
He looked back at the case file.
He glanced up again to find a question and Malfoy was biting his thumb, staring at the map with narrowed eyes. Malfoy pulled at his clothes, exposing the vulnerable hollow of his collarbone, and Harry couldn’t take it any more.
“Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Maybe you should go home.”
“What?” Malfoy’s head jerked up. He glared at Harry, his lip curled. “No! You practically knocked my front door down to get me out and on the case, I’m not leaving.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I know I bothered you when you were probably busy revising.” Harry glanced down and hoped very hard that Malfoy wasn’t a Legilimens. “It’s just, this is a big, serious case, and you’re a trainee. I don’t want you to get hurt, or someone else to get hurt, because I pulled you in when you weren’t ready.”
“I’m ready! I got Cooper, didn’t I? I’m almost done with my training.”
“That’s not - look, let’s go next door and talk about this.”
Malfoy scowled but obeyed. The other Aurors were too engrossed in the case to pay much attention as Harry and Malfoy found an empty room.
“If it was an average case I’d bring you along, of course I would, but we don’t usually have to deal with stuff like this - ”
“The whole point of having on-the-job training was to practice dealing with this stuff, you fool! To make me ready if I’m not. I can do it, I want to prove myself -- ”
“That’s a bad reason to be an Auror, you’ll get yourself killed! Take it from me, I wanted to prove I deserved to be here so badly, that it wasn’t nepotism that got me through, and I fucked it up so badly when I first qualified -- ”
“Well I won’t be an idiot like you! I’ll do it right and - ”
Harry’s frustration boiled over. “You can’t just be an Auror because you want people to like you, want them to think you’re good -- ”
For a moment hurt was visible in Malfoy’s face, painfully raw. Harry almost flinched from it, but “It’s easy not to need it when you’re sure you’re right. But I’m not on the moral high-ground, I’m hip-deep in the muck, just trying to get out of the quagmire.”
“Look, I respect that, I do. But you need to know when the situation calls for you to ignore the field manual, that’s an Auror skill too.”
“You rush around like an idiot and that’s an Auror skill? I’ll be clever, I’ll think about what I’m doing - ”
“I think about what I’m doing!”
“But you don’t have to think about anything else!” Malfoy was shouting now, leaning forward, face pale and livid. “I have to follow the rules, I have to think about what people will think, because they’ve got their eyes on me and if I fail I’m out! No second chances for me, this is my second chance. I don’t have room to fuck up! I have to walk in and be perfect -- ”
“You can’t do that, it’s not possible! God, you’re not cut out to be an Auror if that’s how you’re thinking. It’s not about you, it’s not about you righting your wrongs or whatever, it’s about the people we’re meant to help!”
Malfoy’s body was stiff. His upper lip curled into a snarl like a trapped predator. “I’m going to be a great Auror. You just can’t stand that I could do your job and be just as good as you when I’m not one of your little minions. I wasn’t in Dumbledore’s Army, wasn’t following you around like a puppy so you just assume I can’t be an Auror -- ”
“That isn’t true, but you keep talking about how you hate the public and -- ”
“Everyone who works with the public hates them!”
“I don’t!” Harry didn’t know how they’d got here, how it had escalated so fast. God, they brought out the worst in each other; he didn’t know why he wanted him, why his whole body was still pulsing with frustrated lust and anger. Malfoy was standing there magnetic with energy, drawing the eye; but he wasn’t even that beautiful wearing that sneer. He looked like his father who’d scorned everyone who wasn’t a pureblood, his mother who’d betrayed Sirius. He looked like himself, and suddenly all the history between them was a gulf too wide to cross.
“And you know what, I believe in second chances, but don’t you dare play the victim when people don’t trust you. You were a Death Eater, you agreed to kill Dumbledore and you brought enemies into Hogwarts.” Harry found himself squaring up to Malfoy like a boxer. Malfoy’s eyes went bleak, but the fire in Harry blazed too hot to stop. “You brought Dark Arts there, you knew so much sick stuff -- ”
“Which makes me a better Auror. I understand how dark wizards think, I know what they want. It’s dyed into my bones but I can use it to help you -- who d’you think knows more about where insurrectionist vampires would find allies to hide them, me or you?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about! I need to know you won’t get yourself killed in a tight spot or use Dark Arts to get yourself out of it!”
“I haven’t since - I was acquitted, Potter, who died and made you king?”
“The only reason you’re not a murderer is luck,” Harry roared. “And I know you didn’t want to and didn’t mean it, and I’m glad you don’t have to live with it, but not being totally evil isn’t enough!”
Malfoy actually swayed a little in place. Harry felt sick.
“Malfoy, I’m sorry, listen - ”
“Don’t,” Malfoy said, turning. His voice sounded muffled. “I’m going home. You win.” There was a tiny, bitter pause. “Like always.”
The door closed behind him and Harry slumped onto a table. His heart was pounding. He’d never shouted at work like that, not ever. Malfoy’s face --
He managed to make himself leave the room two minutes later. They had a case and it was deadly; the vampires would be coming for people very soon. He couldn’t get afford to be distracted by Malfoy. That was much of why he’d sent him away to begin with.
He returned to the conference room. There were some edgy looks but no one said anything. Harry looked over Malfoy’s notes, looking for a clue. He’d written about white roses, pureblood names Harry recognised. Harry put the parchment down, not wanting to look at Malfoy’s wild handwriting any more.
“I’m making more tea.”
The Aurors muttered assent. Harry stopped in his cubicle on the way back, looking for an old map of wizarding London he had in a pile of papers.
There was a note on his desk.
Brainwave!
The vampires are in Knockturn after all, fools, in Hare’s warehouse. It’s near a source of – well, I could explain but I’m in a hurry so just trust me, my evil upbringing tells me things that I KNOW are true. Going to sneak up on them, I have garlic to keep them away until I can arrest them properly, will be back in blaze of glory. Please have parade prepared for the dashing hero who worked out where the vampires were and arrested them all single-handed.
Draco
Harry read it all in seconds, and then stood staring at it while horror zigzagged down his spine and set his whole body tingling.
“Shit!”
Possibly the situation deserved a worse swearword, but Harry was busy thinking of much more literal curses, all of which he intended to inflict on those vampires if they’d dared to hurt Draco.
And they would, he knew it. Draco was more competent than Harry had ever expected, and he wasn’t a bad fighter, but he’d never been any good at fighting more than one opponent at once; he got pissed off with one and ended up with tunnel vision. They’d all attack at once, and he’d go down, they’d tear at his neck and he’d try not to cry out because he was stoic when he tried, but he’d end up screaming because they were hurting him and –
Harry shut down the horrible images. That side of his brain was going into lockdown. He had to stay calm, had to concentrate on logical steps. If he didn’t, he’d run screaming for Draco and the vampires would get him too. He couldn’t just hope that his luck wouldn’t run out, and that courage would be enough. Not when Draco’s life was in the balance.
So he went for reinforcements.
“Tim!” he yelled, running for Tim’s cubicle. “Get Akiko and come with me, call anyone you can get, head for Knockturn Alley. He thinks the vampires are in Hare’s old warehouse. He hasn’t got anything with him but his wand and some garlic!” His voice hadn’t been this loud since he was fifteen and screaming at everyone, between dreams of Cedric’s death.
He rounded the corner. Tim was at his desk and groaning. “Harry never learns, does he?” he said fondly, reaching for his enchanted coin to spread the word. “Always the hero.”
“Tim,” Harry said, his voice a little uncertain. “It’s me.”
Tim looked round and jumped. “So it is! Who’s gone running stupidly off in some heroic blaze, then?”
“Draco,” he said grimly. He could feel his shoulders bunching in readiness to pounce, his grip tightening on his wand, at the thought of Draco running into danger.
“Huh,” Tim said after a moment. He frowned contemplatively at his coin while he fiddled with it. “I suppose you taught him how to be an Auror Harry-Potter-style after all.”
“Shut up,” Harry said. His voice was suddenly hoarse, as if he’d been screaming.
Akiko appeared from round the corner, holding two mugs of tea. “Hi, Potter.”
“Draco’s run off to arrest those vampires,” Harry said. He was already sick of explaining it, and he hated it even more at that moment. Akiko was already frowning, and now she’d shout at him. He’d told Draco he couldn’t be a good Auror, that he was all wrong for it, and he hadn’t kept an eye on Draco when he was responsible for him. Now Draco was gone, and if he was already dead from trying to prove himself a hero, it was Harry’s fault.
“Idiot,” she said. “He’s got that stupid obsession with proving he’s worthy. Which I understand but really, being butchered because of your own insecurity is just embarrassing.”
She was moving as she said it: dumping the tea, drawing her wand and enchanted coin and starting to fiddle with it. She looked very calm but her hands were shaking slightly. She swore and dropped the coin.
“No worries,” Tim murmured – he was still working on his own, and a moment later Harry felt the glow that would tell the Aurors something had happened.
Harry flicked his wand up to his own throat, and muttered, “sonorous.” Then he started to shout. His voice rang through the office, calling up the Aurors to the defence of Draco Malfoy.
“Everyone! Anyone not working on something urgent, get over here.” There were scrambling noises and voices raised in inquiry as wizards and witches assembled; Harry ignored it, talking over the noise. “Draco Malfoy’s gone to Hare’s warehouse on Knockturn in search of the vampires. He left a note, and with his family history we’re trusting his breakthrough, which means we’re going as backup immediately – Malfoy’s a trainee and he’s alone."
People were arriving, but very few: most of the Auror force was out searching for vampires, or working as bodyguards for likely targets. By the end of Harry’s little speech there were ten people: seven Aurors, three of them with trainees. Harry felt some of the tightness in his chest relax as Ron’s lanky red form materialised at the back.
So there would be eleven on this mission. Odd number. Harry ignored the illogical pang this sent through him, and kept giving orders.
“Bad news,” said Ron suddenly. At Harry’s look, he said, “worse news. Hare’s warehouse, I was there six months ago on a potions-smuggling case. The place is jigged up to stop theft; there’s a spell on it that takes your wand when you arrive.”
“What?”
“It sends it to the owner’s safe. So no problem if you’re visiting but if you run in there on a raid - ”
“He’s wandless,” Harry said, the words barely a breath as they left his dry mouth.
“We’ve got to have a plan before we go in, Harry,” Ron said. “I know that look, but if we run in there we’ll be wandless too, and the vampires’ll be ready. This must be why they picked this place -- no wood and we can’t fight them properly. They’re used to going without wands in hand so they can’t get staked, and they still have their fangs.”
“Oh fuck.” Harry crumpled over for a moment, hand on his forehead.
“I know,” Ron said grimly. “The safe’s in the warehouse itself, it’s protected against Alohamora. Even if we get to it past the vampires -- ” Possibly seeing Harry’s face, he stopped talking. “He’s sneaky, Malfoy’ll be okay until we get there. We can come up with a plan. You’ve got all these Aurors and we’ll follow your lead. So what do we do?”
“Since Malfoy’s decided to go all Gryffindor,” Harry said, “I think you and me need to come up with a cunning plan.”
~*~
It was difficult to sneak in Knockturn: it was old, central London, and consequently every building was made of half-crumbling brick and tight against the next. On the plus side, they started with three Aurors in black hooded cloaks and nobody gave them a second glance.
Harry’s heart thumped as he gave whispered orders to the Disillusioned Aurors clustered around him. These were Aurors trained to fight dark wizards and use wandless magic; most of them had been in the war.
But most people weren’t any good at wandless magic; not like Draco, with his Occlumency and matchstick mastery. Worse, he didn’t know quite when Draco had gone, and a little countdown was ticking away in the back of his head: two minutes until the chance of recovering Draco alive was almost nil.
If an Auror goes to fight without backup, their chances of surviving the mission instantly reduce by two-thirds.
Vampires have hypnotic powers as well as their fangs; do not underestimate them.
Aurors must remain on-guard: almost twenty percent of the force dies in action, usually through complacency or arrogance.
Any terrorist group is to be considered Highly Dangerous if it exhibits continued evidence of teamwork...
What a fantastic time to start remembering his old notes. In the Field, Active Missions, Dark Creatures, Terrorism, Organised Crime...
Draco wouldn’t have taken all the courses yet.
“Everyone clear?”
Ten nods.
“All right. On my signal.”
Everyone got into position, moving like oil, slick and soundless in their dark robes. Harry gestured: any defensive spells on the buildings? No? Everyone in position - drop your wands.
The Aurors looked sick as they did it. Harry felt a pang of loss as his own wand was accio’d by the Aurors staying outside on watch.
Six would be staying outside, to work on the defensive spells that took people’s wands. The other four, with Harry at their head, were going in. Ron was at Harry’s side, face almost purple with concentration as he slipped noiselessly inside.
The warehouse was dim and airless, and utterly silent. He could hear nothing but the controlled breathing of the other Aurors as they moved behind him. Harry’s stomach was in knots, waiting for a trap to close. He signalled the other Aurors, sending them fanning out into the warehouse. Where were the vampires? Where was Draco?
The large central room was full of ceiling-high shelves choked with evil-smelling boxes. There were smaller rooms off to the side. Harry began opening them, slow and careful. He heard Ron whisper a silencing spell at the hinges of his, automatically.
They’d been inside less than five minutes but it felt like an age.
Ron nodded towards another door: the office of the owner. The safe would surely be in there. Ron headed for it. Harry was following, keeping close, when he heard a sound from next door.
“Draco?”
He was there: sitting huddled against the back wall, his hands tied behind his back. A trail of dried blood from one side of Draco’s neck had left a long dark stain on his robes. He did not look happy to see Harry arriving heroically at the head of a squad of Aurors to save him.
“Draco?” Harry said again, waiting for Draco to start telling him off. “Draco, Jesus fuck, are you all right?”
Fear was thrumming through him: Draco had bled (and Harry hadn’t killed a single one of those fuckers) and Draco wasn’t acting normally, and was he all right? And yet the sight of his pale hair and pointy face was bizarrely soothing. They still had to find and arrest all the vampires, but Draco was here, and alive, and Harry could keep an eye on him so he wouldn’t go rushing off into more trouble alone. It was all right.
“’M fine,” he said in a low voice, staring up at Harry with unreadable eyes. “But my wand - ”
“It’s fine, we can get it. Let’s -- ”
Something grabbed him from behind and Draco swore at the top of his voice.
Wanting to warn Ron, Harry did the same thing past the crushing grip on his throat. One hand was wrapped round his neck, another holding his arm twisted behind his back. The pain lancing through him made it hard to think, and Draco looked terrified.
“Another Auror come to ruin our plans?” the vampire said. Her heavily-accented voice was close and ice-cold, like a chill against his skin.
“Don’t,” Draco said urgently. “If you kill him people will hate you - ”
“As if they don’t already!”
“The editor of the Prophet runs pieces about creature mistreatment every week -- ”
“Creature!” This was a shriek. Draco flinched. The vampire forced Harry’s neck to one side, baring his skin. Draco struggled fruitlessly against his ropes. His face was bloodless, and his eyes were staring; Harry remembered Malfoy Manor, waiting for what he’d say. But Harry had got everyone out then --
At this point it occurred to Harry that while it had seemed like a great secret weapon at the time, staking a vampire using matchsticks and wandless magic really required being able to see your target. Ice went through his bones.
This time he might actually die. He might not be able to save anyone.
Draco seemed to see the change in Harry’s expression, even if he couldn’t have known why. Harry stared, trying to send a mute apology; he couldn’t have the vampire hear any of it. If she realised the other Aurors were here, they were done.
Draco cleared his throat.
“Don’t, okay, don’t. You want to mess with society? I’m much more important than him. He’s a nobody, no one knows who he is!” Draco gave him one ferocious glance of keep quiet, then kept looking up at the vampire behind Harry. His voice was hoarse and fear ran under its surface like a river under ice, but he kept talking. “I’m, I’m a pureblood, my family’s famous, I probably taste better than him too - ”
Draco’s voice wavered and broke. The vampire was talking but Harry couldn’t hear her past the rushing in his ears. He couldn’t feel the pain of the vampire’s hold on him. Draco had --
“Trudo!” Ron’s voice roared. The vampire was knocked backwards, bringing Harry sprawling with her. Ron lunged forward from the doorway while Harry rolled away. The vampire reached for him and Harry kicked out. Then he was out of range and Ron tied her up.
“Nice work,” Harry said as Ron Silenced the vampire. “The others?”
“I sent Akiko to bring them all in, wands out. I heard Malfoy swearing so I thought you might be in trouble.”
“Explain,” Draco demanded, no less imperious for being tied up on the floor.
“Wands automatically get transferred to the owner’s safe when you arrive as an anti-theft measure,” Harry said.
Draco snorted. “New-fangled… in my family we had peacocks that peck out your eyes, that’s always been good enough for us.” At Harry and Ron’s expressions, he rolled his eyes. “They’ve been retrained. Now they just scream incapacitatingly until the burglar is captured.”
“Well. That’s all right then,” Ron said, sounding deeply unconvinced. “So we came in without our wands, and I got into the office and picked the lock.”
“You what?”
“The twins taught me when I was a kid. Important Muggle skill, lock-picking.”
“I am so ashamed. A Weasley saved me.”
“Not half as ashamed as I am.”
They smiled at each other, wary but friendly, like Hermione’s cats when they both wanted her attention.
“Anyway. Take Malfoy’s wand and get him out, yeah, it’s not much good for me. I’ll go and help round up the murderous vampires.”
Draco’s mouth opened in soundless indignation as he realised whose wand Ron had been using. Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder, silent appreciation that he was still alive, then headed out.
Harry crouched in front of Draco.
“Can you walk? What happened?”
Draco looked down, not answering. It should have been very attractive, all soft-sheened white-blond hair falling into his eyes and pout-softened mouth. Harry imagined it usually was very attractive, and that Draco knew this to be the case. He’d probably used it to devastating effect against his governesses, and no doubt had attempted to use it against professors until his first lesson with Professor McGonagall. Right now, with his hair sweaty and stuck to his dirty forehead, his mouth tight and mulish with pain, Draco was not the picture of pretty contrition. He just looked tired and pained and disappointed.
Still pretty, though. Harry rather wanted to see if he could make Draco’s mouth go soft. But since Draco’s shoulders, which looked rather nice all bunched like that, were signalling very loudly that unsolicited contact would be met with a knee in the crotch, Harry simply asked if he wanted to be untied.
Draco gave him a Look for that, his grey eyes flat and scornful, that Harry probably deserved. He gave a little twitch of his tight shoulders, signalling permission, and Harry muttered a deknotting spell and flicked Draco’s wand. He thought it worked better than it had last time.
“Nice,” Draco allowed, his shoulders slumping without the ropes at his forearms. He winced, then, and Harry recognised the look.
“Pins and needles?”
“Like you would not believe.”
“Ah, well. Getting tied up by the bad guys is a good-guy rite of passage. You want some help getting up? The crashing and banging’s stopped, so I think our lot have killed the vampires.”
Draco gave him a narrow look. “And you call me -- if you’re a good guy, Potter, you should sound less gleeful about mass slaughter.”
“Oh. Right. Well, actually, I’m sure the vampires have been arrested and will be given due process. Which is great,” Harry said. He tried not to notice the blood on Draco’s wrists because that red mist was really sort of alarming.
When Draco put out a hand for his help, the torn skin mattered less than the feeling of Draco’s hand in his. Harry hauled him up, trying not to beam inappropriately and ruin this moment of trust.
At which point Draco’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed like a ton of bricks.
Harry held him up, and thought about how he wasn’t going to get any credit for catching Draco like a romance hero instead of panicking. It was all right, because Aurors could Apparate into St Mungo’s and he had an in with the best.
He carried Draco out of the warehouse, barely seeing the captured vampires around him. He didn’t answer questions, only noting Aurors to count them, checking for casualties. All accounted for.
He hit daylight and Apparated. “Padma!”
Harry only ever saw Padma Patil when he wanted something. Usually he was sweaty, bloody, sooty, or some combination of the three. Nevertheless Padma was a highly competent Healer who specialised in battlefield wounds, and the two of them got on tremendously.
To her credit, she only wavered for a moment when she saw who Harry was holding. He wouldn’t have caught the quick check in Padma’s movements when she registered the blond hair if he wasn’t trained.
She nodded, a quick movement that made her ponytail bounce. “Come with me.” She led him through the busy white corridors of the hospital, talking over her shoulder. “What happened? Anything wrong aside from the neck wound?”
“His wrists are wrecked – he was tied up. And it was vampires, I don’t know how much blood they took or if they did -- God, do they have venom or anything…”
“I see.” Padma opened the door to one of St Mungo’s rare private rooms, and cocked her head at the bed. “Lie him down and let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
Harry did so. Draco went down in a tumble of limbs, his body quite limp.
Padma bent over him, her ever-hoarse voice muttering spell after charm after enchantment in a continuous, husky murmur. Light sparked and played over Draco’s body. Harry sat in one of those visitor’s chairs that seemed designed to encourage short visits and tried not to get in the way. It was quite easy; Padma possessed a prodigal capacity for focus when it came to the human body. Harry was pretty sure he could sing opera in his chair without making Padma look away from Draco.
Which worked out well, since Harry didn’t want to look away from Draco either.
He watched Draco’s pale, still face for twenty minutes while Padma worked. He memorised the little lines on each side of Draco’s mouth and the white-blond, almost invisible eyelashes and the subtle arch of his brows and the tiny scar on his jaw from a peacock when he was eight. That had been one of his extended tales of his own bravery, and Harry had thrown balled-up parchment at him to make him shut up.
Mostly, Harry sat and was amazed at how well he already knew the details of Draco’s face. I know you by heart.
Padma moved between them, and Harry blinked.
“He fainted from the blood loss, that’s all. I’m going to get potions for replenishing blood, energy, and some things to fight infection just in case. He’ll wake in a little while. Would you do me a favour and contact his next-of-kin while I get the ball rolling?”
This was the least of what Padma had done for him, and so Harry didn’t even argue about being assigned the dire task of explaining to Draco Malfoy’s mother that he’d been hurt on the job.
Narcissa went ashen when she saw Harry’s face in the fire. But when he explained what had happened, and that Draco was all right, all she did was close her eyes for a moment and expel a breath. Then she stood. “Move out of the way, Mr Potter. I’m coming through.”
It took almost an hour for Draco to wake. During that hour Harry paced, tried to protect the St Mungo’s staff from Draco’s mother, and told Padma everything.
She was a Healer, and had therefore had training in how to give people bad news and be tactful. Padma still made a rather obvious No Comment sort of face when Harry got on to how he’d watched Draco wank because he’d been afraid Draco was being eaten by vampires; but she patted his hand and fed him custard creams and said she was sure it would be all right. And she explained, every time Harry asked, how there was nothing wrong with Draco but blood loss and that the potions would kick in and he’d be fine.
Around four, Padma yawned, and Harry realised that she must have finished her shift long ago, since she was in here with him. “You should go home, Padma - I’m sorry I’ve made you stay here so long with me.”
She favoured him with a bright, if slightly fuzzy, smile. “You didn’t make me, Harry. You just needed me. And I wouldn’t say no to that, not for you.”
Harry felt something warm and squishy inside, like a Muggle Creme Egg had broken inside his chest.
“But I do need to go home and sleep. I’d - do Hermione and Ron know you’re here?”
“Er. I think so. Ron probably does, anyway, since I took half the office with me on my mission.”
“Mmm. Well, I’d tell you to go and firecall one of them, since you still look like death. But I am going to resist the urge to contact your next of kin, because Draco should be waking up soon and I know how much you like making foolish decisions around him.”
Harry kissed her smirking face. “Thanks, Padma. Gotta go.”
He went to Draco’s room immediately. Padma had forbade him from sitting and watching Draco all afternoon for the sake of Harry’s mental health. Which Harry appreciated, despite having pointed out to Padma that it was probably too late for his mental health, and really it would be easier all around if he was just indulged at this point.
Draco looked better now; a white bandage was taped to his neck and he was in bed properly, tucked up with the duvet around his chest. He didn’t look like he’d moved since he’d been tucked in, which was a little unnerving. But Draco looked comfortable; there was no hint of a frown on his face.
He was still paper-pale, the blue veins visible at his temple and throat. “I guess you’re blue-blooded after all,” Harry murmured. “Wonder how you’ll react to the cotton pyjamas.” Draco was indeed wearing grey hospital pyjamas. They had a V-neck that exposed his collarbones, which Harry found frankly to be in bad taste: he was in hospital because of a vampire attack and they were enticing people to bite him?
Harry dropped into a chair without looking away from Draco. The little scrape of the chairlegs made Draco flinch a little, snuffling. Harry held his breath, and after a moment Draco’s eyes opened, pale and clear; they were washed-out crystal under the hospital’s fluorescent lights.
“Draco,” breathed Harry, the name tripping from his lips without permission.
Draco flinched again, looking startled, as his eyes fell on Harry. “What - er...” Draco managed to sit up, though with difficulty: whoever had tucked him in had done it tightly, and Draco was obliged to sort of wriggle out from under it.
“You’re in St Mungo’s,” said Harry.
“I know that,” Draco said, apparently able to snap at him after less than thirty seconds awake. “You watching me sleep like an enormous stalker was a bit of a hint, as well as all the white. If I didn’t know I was in St Mungo’s, I would not be a very good Auror.” His fingers found the bandage at his neck, and he winced. Draco hung his head a little, his shoulders tensing as his hands fell into his lap, and Harry tried not to be attracted to the bunch of muscle and ruffled hair. “Speaking of not being a very good Auror... how did I end up in here?”
“The vampires, remember?” Harry said. “You worked out where they were hiding in some sort of evil-heir way and then rushed off by yourself -- ”
“Oh. Yes. I remember,” Draco muttered. “No need to further explain how utterly unimpressive I was. The defeating the vampires in slick Auror fashion did not go to plan.”
Harry’s heart clenched in his chest. Draco had wanted to impress him? “You were very heroic,” he said. “Promise. I thought all the rushing in, wand blazing, was most Gryffindor-like.”
“I did not rush in wand blazing!” Draco snapped. “I sneaked sneakily in, which was most Slytherin-like.”
“And got caught.”
“Yes, well,” muttered Draco. “Nobody ever said we had to live up to the ‘cunning’ label all the time. I am not always the Master of Cunning I generally am, as you so often remind me.”
“Apparently not,” Harry said. Draco’s pale hands were fidgeting in his lap, and Harry wanted to put a hand over them, to still them and keep them warm.
He always got soppy when people nearly died. Ron had been kidnapped once and Harry had thought for sure he was dead and it had taken thirty-six hours to find him. When they did Harry kissed Ron smack on the mouth. This was no different.
Well, he sort of wanted to kiss Draco at other, less perilous times too. But then Draco didn’t have a wife who could make sure Harry’s body was never found.
“So...” Harry said, casting about desperately for an Auror-ish subject of conversation. Just here to check up on my trainee and talk over the mission, nothing to see here. “What went wrong? I thought you had garlic to keep them away?”
“Yes, well.” Draco blushed, and the rosy glow of colour in his cheeks was so sweet Harry almost melted. He sternly reminded himself that Draco had been foolish, and that if he stroked a blushing Draco’s hair and told him not to worry, somehow Ron would find out and mock him for eternity. “I, er, I thought I had. It... turned out not to be garlic.”
“Huh?”
“Er. I tried to fight them off with an onion.”
“...” Harry controlled his face for five long seconds, while the clock ticked and Draco blushed furiously. Then he burst out laughing.
“Hey!” Draco protested, laughing too. “I never had to cook anything, you know! I have house elves for that! How was I meant to know what a clove of garlic looks like?”
Harry kept laughing, but after a few moments the laughter faded. Draco was smiling a little, sheepishly, but he was fiddling with his nails and the blush hadn’t entirely gone.
“Still, it was ferocious. I wouldn’t have thought you could do that. At least, not for reasons unrelated to your desire to utterly defeat me.” Draco didn’t look up and Harry tried to think of something better. “Proactive, too. The department likes proactive. And... and I thought it was very brave.”
Draco looked up, the sheepish smile turning into that sharp one that gleamed like light off a blade. “Brave, hmm? This from the archetypal Gryffindor, too.” He stretched, catlike, with a similarly catlike expression of smugness. Harry frowned, and scrubbed at his hair, and tried to ignore all the flexing.
“And you saved my life, distracting that vampire. Telling her you’d taste better. In the most you way possible, I’m sure telling someone that you were a million times more famous than me and having them believe you was the culmination of a thousand fantasies, but - it was amazing.
“Not that I approve of the rushing in without stopping to tell anyone what you’d worked out or getting back up,” said Harry severely, with a frown that he felt recalled McGonagall at her most terrifying. “I never thought I’d be telling you off for running off half-cocked because you couldn’t wait to defeat the bad guys. I don’t like having to tell you off – ”
“Liar,” Draco murmured, an odd little smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “You’ve probably been waiting your whole life to give someone else the lecture about unfortunate heroics.”
Harry flushed a little. “Quiet, you, or I’ll set Padma on you. The woman’s a holy terror when she’s worried.”
“A holy terror, I’ll grant you,” Draco agreed. “I doubt she’s all that worried, though.”
“Of course she was,” Harry protested. “You – she – you were on the right side.” Chickenshit, Potter, he told himself internally. Tell him why she was really worried.
“Oh, I – I was, wasn’t I?” Draco said, and smiled. The smile made Harry not mind so much that he was being such an incredible emotional coward. Perversely, it also made him want to actually tell Draco that Padma had been worried because she and Harry had had a heart-to-heart talk while Draco had been busy being unconscious.
Maybe he could. Draco looked happy, after all, and he’d wanted Harry to think he was brave, and Harry had flex-able muscles too. Maybe this was it. Draco had had a near-death experience, so now was the moment for Harry to lean in and kiss him, and Draco would be startled and fluttery but yearning and then Harry would shag him in his hospital bed and –
Guilt hit Harry like a Catholic tsunami, and he shut his eyes. “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Oh? If it’s that you like men, Potter, I’ve got to tell you, that cat is out of the bag and dancing on the bar. Is it that you’re crazy? Because I am actually entirely aware of that– ”
I’m not sure about that, Harry thought miserably. “I. I. Er.”
“Potter, would you – ”
“I saw you wanking,” Harry forced out. “Today. I came round and knocked and you didn’t answer, so I spelled my way in and found you wanking.”
A scorching blush ignited on Draco’s face. He cringed, looking like he wanted to die. Harry felt rather the same way.
“I’m really sorry. I am. I know it was really wrong and you can change Aurors and everything, I’ll back you up. I didn’t meant to, I didn’t stick around and watch or anything, I mean for a second but that was mostly shock and -- And I thought you were in trouble! When I got in, I could hear you moaning and I thought the vampires got you and were hurting you, and...” The sentence committed hara-kiri in his mouth rather than go on.
At least Draco had apparently regained his voice. “You what? Are you completely mad? What, in your experience of me, led you to believe that if bloodythirsty vampires got me I would be stoically moaning rather than, just say, screaming for help in a loud voice?”
“I know.”
“I’m not – I can’t – I have no idea what to say,” Draco finished. “You’re petty and you’ve got a temper and you do not do well with boundaries, but I did not see this one coming at all.”
Harry stared miserably at his hands. One of them had buy Draco lunch written on it.
“When you say you stayed for a second due mostly to shock... what was the rest of it?”
Harry winced.
“So,” Draco said, his voice pleased but also made distant by shock. “My investigation suggests -- you fancy me.”
Harry said nothing in favour of having his blush stage a hostile takeover of his face, and Draco paused.
“You do fancy me, don’t you? This isn’t you being fucked-up from the war or something?”
“No, no,” Harry said hastily. “I mean, possibly that too, but I definitely fancy you.”
Draco paused again, but this time in a slow and pleased sort of way. His smile was like a lazy sunbather’s stretch.
“That works out nicely then. You see, I – Potter. Eyes on me.”
Harry managed to look at Draco, and found him making the Suave Face Harry remembered from Diagon Alley.
“I’ve got a secret too.”
“Oh?” Harry said faintly.
“Yes. I fancy you as well.”
“Oh.”
“I haven’t seen you wank, of course. But. We could always change that?” Draco got it all out and was very nearly smooth about it and he leaned in to kiss Harry, and Harry sort of flailed out of his chair.
“Er. Draco. Don’t you think -- I’m not sure it’s a good thing that your reaction to ‘I broke into your home and watched you masturbate’ is ‘let’s kiss’! Although,” he added hastily, “I am pleased.” Harry sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to produce a smile that wasn’t more of a leer or a grimace. “But – ”
“Yes, yes,” Draco agreed. “I’m so insecure I find your criminal violation of my privacy flattering, and it’s really rather sad. But it sounds more like ‘saw me masturbate’ than actually watched. I’ve seen you do stupider things to try and rescue someone when you thought they were in trouble. Besides this is a chance for us to kiss, so let’s focus on the positive, shall we?”
“All right,” said Harry, and leaned in.
The kiss felt like fireworks were going off in his brain: he was seeing shiny lights and felt there was a distinct chance he’d be horribly burned.
Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest as the kiss went on. He touched Draco’s jaw gently, stroking fingertips down his neck; the skin was warm and vulnerable and alive. Draco made a soft sound as Harry bit his lower lip.
Someone coughed.
Harry disentangled his tongue from Draco’s, sat back, and turned around. A woman in Healer’s robes was standing in the doorway. “It’s all right,” she said, smiling. “People snogging after a near-death experience showed them that they’re in love happens surprisingly often, really.”
Harry was too busy listening to they’re in love in his head and staying upright to listen to the rest of it. But Draco was smiling politely and after a few spells the Healer went away, so that was probably all right.
“I should go and find your mum, tell her you’re awake.”
Draco groaned, slumping back against his pillow. “No. No, Potter, you didn’t tell my mother I got attacked by vampires.”
“Now you learn why rushing in heroically is a bad idea.”
Draco gave him huge, tragic eyes. “You’re a hero. Save me from her.”
“Nope,” Harry said heartlessly. “She knows you were unconscious for a while, too.”
Draco groaned.
“I’ll tell her you’re going to be a great Auror, though.”
“Because I was an idiot?”
“Because you worked out something we couldn’t and then kept me alive until Ron could help us. I’m not happy with you but once you’re qualified…” Harry shot him a crooked grin.
“You’re hoping we’ll work together?”
“Actually I’m sort of hoping we won’t,” Harry murmured. “There are rules about fraternising.”
Draco blinked, grey eyes gone misty-soft as Scottish fog; like Hogwarts, like home. “I thought you didn’t like rules.”
“I follow them mostly. It’s just sometimes you know you need to break them.”
Draco gave a half-laugh. “I used to know that. I just… I made so many stupid mistakes, I wrecked things. I couldn’t trust my own judgement any more.”
“Maybe you’re not going to make those big mistakes any more.”
“Maybe.” Draco’s fingers were at Harry’s throat, hooking round his collar and pulling him in. “Maybe this is the biggest mistake yet.” His mouth was close to Harry’s, Draco’s lips catching his with every soft word. “You’d better make it worth it.”