Archive of Our Own ^beta

~~o~~

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Harry leans back in his chair, fingers splayed over the chipped dining table, thumb idly thumping against the blunt edge of his knife.

Ron snorts, waving his wand to refill their drinks. “Neither do I, mate. You’d think you’d have learned by now.” He takes a hefty gulp of his firewhisky. “You can never trust a pointy git.”

Ginny leans forward, rests her elbows on the table. “Are you sure, Harry?”

“What are you on about, Gin? Of course he’s sure!”

“I wasn’t asking you, Ronald.” Ginny throws her brother a glare and then focusses on Harry from across the table. “Harry, you need to be sure.”

Harry does, he knows it. If he speaks up and it turns out he was wrong, it would be too late: Malfoy would be back in Azkaban, and his team would be without an informant. Consulting informant, a sniffy voice corrects him in his head.

“Yeah.” Harry sighs and closes his eyes. “I think he did it.”

~~o~~

The cave was dark and damp, but Harry revelled for a moment in the lack of rain hitting his face. The Impervious Charm worked well on his glasses, but it did nothing for the rest of him; his robes hung heavy from his shoulders, and his hair was plastered to his forehead, his skin slick as he gripped his wand tightly in his fist. He took a deep breath, letting himself become accustomed to the dark shadows that licked up the dripping walls from the bare shafts of light behind him. There were other caves like this; Harry’s team had spread themselves out to search through them all, but as soon as Harry had seen his first glimpse of this one, he’d known this was where his prize would lay. Lichen crawled the stone walls, and heavy drapes of ivy had almost covered the entrance entirely, a small entryway to the labyrinth of tunnels and caves beneath the mountain of Devil’s Bit.

Raising his wand, Harry stepped forward, wondering if a lumos was riskier than the certainty of him tripping over something as he advanced. He decided against it, trusting his instincts more than his sight; he’d never been very good at taking in his surroundings anyway.

The cave narrowed quickly, just an antechamber before the tunnels started. Harry stopped for a second and then marked the rough stone wall with an X, just in case he should get lost on his way back. He carried on, one hand scraping against the damp wall while his other held his wand straight out in front of him, picking up his feet as high as he dared before taking each step as carefully as possible. He still made noise, but stealth had never been one of his strong points, either. The tunnel widened and narrowed as it trailed its way deeper into the mountain, and Harry shivered inside his cold and damp clothes. The darkness seemed to press in on him like a physical weight, making his ears pop and his temples throb as his eyes widened to let in light that wasn’t to be found. Every whisper of his fingers against rock, every kicked pebble beneath his feet, sounded to Harry as though there were hundreds of unseen enemies all around him, invisible in the pitch black. Harry didn’t like the dark at the best of times.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of hearing his own breathing echoed back to him, Harry thought he could discern a small light just up ahead. He slowed his movements and edged round the curve in the tunnel, pressing himself as close to the wall as he dared without scraping his robes against the stone. The vague flickering light made his eyes tear after all that impenetrable blackness, and at first he could see nothing but yet more rock, shadows dancing as flames flickered gently in the centre of the room in front of him.

“Finally. I was beginning to think you’d never catch me.”

Harry blinked rapidly and swung his wand arm in the direction of the shadow that had spoken. Leaning against the wall at the back of the room, blending perfectly into the darkness around him in dark trousers and a black turtleneck jumper, stood Draco Malfoy.

“You were waiting for me?”

Malfoy studied his fingernails in the light from his conjured fire. “I’m always waiting for you, it seems. But then, you’ve never been very bright, have you?” The corner of his mouth tilted upwards in a smirk. “Mind you, I confess to being torn over whether to express my disdain over how long it took you to catch up, or my shock that you managed to figure anything out at all.”

Harry snorted, inwardly rolling his eyes over the amount of hours and manpower that had been attributed to finding and catching one Draco Malfoy, when he was still the same old schoolyard bully he’d always been. Hardly worth the effort, really. “You may be right, Malfoy,” Harry said lightly. “But we all know I always catch the snitch in the end.”

A sneer lit Malfoy’s face, flames dancing in his grey eyes as he raised an eyebrow. “You’re equating catching me with wanting to catch the snitch? I’m honoured, Potter.” He leaned forward, dropped his voice to a purr dripping with disdain. “You must have wanted me really badly.”

Harry nodded. “I really did. Because then I could really send you to Azkaban and then really never think of you again.” He flicked his gaze around the roughly hewn room, looking for the Spear he knew must be there somewhere.

“Oh come now, Potter. We all know there’s not a day goes by that you don’t think of me.”

“You wish, Malfoy. Where’s the Spear?”

Malfoy’s eyes lit up again, and he became suddenly animated, no longer a shadow melting into the wall. “Oh, so you know why you found me here, of all places?” He spread his arms, indicating the room itself and the mountain surrounding them. “I did wonder if you’d bothered to work that part out.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yes, Malfoy. I know you’re here to find Lugh’s Spear so you can sell it to the highest bidder.”

“The highest bidder?” Malfoy scoffed, running a hand through his white-blond hair. “Please, nothing quite so prosaic. I wouldn’t lower myself to scrounging through a mountain in Ireland in the middle of a bloody monsoon just in case someone fancied buying the thing. No,” he said, smirking, “this is a requisitioned piece, Potter.”

“Someone hired you to steal the Spear?”

“Doesn’t look like they’ll be getting their money’s worth now, does it? Seeing as I’ve just been caught by the Great Harry Potter?”

“Where is it, Malfoy?”

Malfoy sighed and finally stood up straight. He sneered as he noticed Harry gripping his wand tighter and moved over to the far corner of the room, where the shadows were thickest. He bent down by the rock and ran his hand over it lightly. “Come and have a look, Potter.”

Harry moved closer, hesitating a moment before squatting down next to Malfoy and looking at the spot he was indicating. It really was quite ingenious; Harry could feel the wards that had been put in place, obscuring the relic and making it look like nothing more than an outcropping of stone to all but those with magic in their veins.

“It’s still on fire.”

Malfoy snorted delicately. “No it isn’t. At least, not fire as you would think of it. It’s similar to the flames from the Goblet: they never go out, but they’re not burning either. It’s a simple charm, really.”

Harry thought about it. “Kind of like those electric decorative fires, I guess.”

“Eckeltric what?” Malfoy frowned.

“Never mind.” Harry stood up. They’d been talking long enough; it was time to wrap this case up and go home.

“It’s a good thing I put those wards up,” Malfoy said suddenly. “I didn’t hear you Apparate in. Finally learned how to do soundless Apparition, Potter?”

“I didn’t Apparate in.” Harry decided not to mention that the art of soundless Apparition still eluded him. “I walked in through the entrance.”

Malfoy stood up and faced him. “In the dark? Without even a lumos?” He nodded down at the unlit tip of Harry’s wand. “That can’t have been much fun for you. You hate the dark.”

“What do you know about what I do and don’t like, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s face drew up in a half smirk. “All that time you spent watching me at school, Potter, and you never once thought I might have been doing the same in return?”

“Whatever. You’re under arrest, Malfoy, for the charges of stealing priceless Magical Artefacts with the intent to supply. Anything you say will be presented to the Wizengamot at your trial via the use of a pensieve, so I’d advise you to shut your gob, if you’re capable.” Harry pointed his wand and cuffs appeared around Malfoy’s wrists, pulling his arms behind his back as they clinked closed.

Malfoy didn’t even blink, just remained standing against the wall with that vaguely amused expression on his face. Harry wondered if the git thought he could weasel his way out of this at some point in the near future. It was unlikely; they had a solid case against him and Malfoy gold didn’t have the same leverage it used to wield before the war.

“Are we at least Apparating out?”

“No,” Harry said shortly, casting more concealment charms over the Spear and gripping Malfoy’s upper arm lightly. “We’re walking.”

“You put anti-apparition wards up over the entire mountain, didn’t you?” Harry nodded and Malfoy sighed, giving into the pressure on his arm and walking forwards slowly. As the rock narrowed back into the dark tunnel in front of them, he leaned down to whisper into Harry’s ear. “You can hold my hand if you get scared, Potter.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

~~o~~

“Isn’t it pretty much impossible for Malfoy to do anything you don’t know about?” Hermione stands up, offering second helpings of the apple crumble sat in front of them. “From what I know of the spell, if Malfoy even gets an idea to do something illegal, you feel it.”

Harry sighs, tapping his spoon against his bowl. “It was like that, at first. Unsurprisingly enough, Draco seems to think about doing illegal things an awful lot. I had a migraine for a full fortnight before we decided to use the simpler version of the spell.” He takes a bite of apple and custard but puts his spoon back down almost immediately. He’s not feeling very hungry right now. “Now, I only get the feeling when he’s actively decided to do something and is plotting it out.”

“And have you felt something like that recently?” Hermione looks at him from across the table, and Harry can practically see the cogs whirring as she tries to put all the pieces together.

“I had a bad headache about a week ago.” Harry shrugs. This was the part that Harry was most stuck on: how Draco could have got around the bond that links him to Harry. “But it didn’t feel like a warning, it just felt like a normal headache.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I’ve been trying for ages to get the Wizengamot to use a different spell for bonding probationers to Aurors. Too many of them mistake the warning signs for general aches and pains. It’s just not a good system.”

“So you think I’m right? Draco did do it?”

“I didn’t say that, Harry. But whether or not Malfoy has found a way to circumvent the bond to give you a different feeling is something worth looking into.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Ron says, custard dripping from the corner of his mouth. He grins sheepishly at Hermione as she gives him a disgusted look. “I mean, he’s a pointy git, but he’s never been stupid. If someone could work their way around that bond, I’d put money on it being him.” He points his spoon at Harry. “There is a reason ferret was a good look on him.”

“But what if it was just a headache?” Ginny pushes her dessert away from her and leans back in her chair. “What if all this speculating does nothing more than put an innocent person back in jail?”

“He’s not innocent, Gin, that’s the point!” Ron replies heatedly. “I knew this would happen. I always said it was a bad idea to let him out. He was exactly where he’s always belonged, and he should have stayed there.”

“We needed his help, Ron,” Harry says quietly.

“Yeah. And look where his ‘help’ has gotten you, mate.”

~~o~~

“We’ve got a problem.”

Harry looked up from his desk as Anthony Goldstein threw himself into his chair and dropped a thick file on the mounds of paperwork covering his desk. “That lead not go anywhere?”

Anthony snorted in disgust. “Worse. It actually took us back to square one.” He fisted his hands in his hair and then let them drop, tipping his head back in frustration. “I don’t get it. Every single lead we follow brings us straight back to that bloody painting.”

“Well, you know what we have to do,” Luna said serenely, sitting lightly on the top of her teetering pile of case notes, threading a new Butterbeer cork necklace.

“Give up and go down the pub for a pint?” Harry grinned at Anthony, who raised his fist and nodded.

“If you really want to, yes. But after that you should really go and talk to Draco.”

Harry spit out the mouthful of tea he’d just taken. “I should do what now?”

Luna smiled at him. “Look at it logically, Harry.”

“Like you even know what logic is,” Anthony grumbled, but too low for Luna to hear him.

“All our leads bring us straight back to this one painting, so obviously the painting has something to do with all of these fires. Draco is an art expert—”

“Art thief!” Harry interjected, but Luna ignored him.

“He’s an art expert and would be able to tell you exactly what we need to do to stop this. And fortunately for you,” she added brightly, “we know exactly where he is, so you can ask him.”

“Luna,” Harry began in a strained voice. “Everyone knows where Malfoy is. Because he’s in a cell in Azkaban.”

Luna shrugged. “It’s not likely he’ll be too busy to help then, is it?”

Harry shared an exasperated glance with Anthony, who shook his head in defeat. “Well, now I definitely need a drink. You two coming?”

Anthony nodded and grabbed his cloak. Luna jumped off the desk and shook her head regretfully. “Sorry, Harry, Ginny’s taking me out to dinner tonight.” She kissed Harry on the cheek and waved to Anthony before skipping out of their office.

Anthony stood up to watch her go. “How did she ever become an Auror?”

Harry clapped his hand on his shoulder. “Mate, it’s one of those weird magical things that I am just never going to understand.”

The pint did wonders for his stress levels, especially when Ron and George turned up after closing the shop and engrossed them all with tales of their latest inventions. It didn’t, however, do much for the niggling sensation that Luna might be right. Stumbling into his flat and struggling to get his head out of his robes, Harry couldn’t get the idea out of his mind. Malfoy would know about any supposed curse attached to a painting, and his insight could very well help Harry’s team break the case. The only problem was would Malfoy want to help, seeing as they were the very same Auror team who had captured him six months before? And even if he was willing to help, was Harry willing to suffer through all those smug smirks and barbed comments just for a lead in the case?

Lying in bed a few minutes later, watching the ceiling above him whirl and dip, Harry decided that he just might.

~~o~~

Azkaban was different to how it had been before the war. The Dementors were long gone, the cells widened and made more comfortable. It was still spartan, with each room housing nothing more than a bed and a toilet and a shelf to keep a few belongings on, but it was better than a dirty mattress shoved into a corner of a cold and damp room. Harry Apparated onto the rock and immediately got a mouthful of salty spray from the sea. He took off his glasses and wiped them, shivering against the harsh wind that whipped around the isolated island. He held out his Auror badge to the guards at the gate and was shown into the visitor’s side of the prison. He was let into a small room housing a desk and two chairs and sat, waiting.

He didn’t have to wait long before Malfoy was shown into the room. Despite being incarcerated, he didn’t look that much different than the last time Harry had seen him, during his trial. His robes were simple and plain, the dark grey offsetting his pale hair and making it shine more brightly. His skin was paler, and his wrists showed more bone as the guard flicked his wand and secured the cuffs to the desk. Malfoy looked placidly down at his nails as Harry nodded to the guard to leave them, never taking his eyes off the blond in front of him.

“Missed me, Potter?” Malfoy smirked from under his fringe as the door slid shut behind the guard. “I knew you thought about me.”

“Yes, Malfoy, the only reason why I’m here is because I missed your pretty blond eyelashes.” Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out the case file, opening it up and spreading the contents across the surface of the desk. “I’m here to ask for your help with a case.”

Malfoy bit his lip as he looked down at the images in front of him. “All fires?”

Harry nodded. “All happened within the last four months. All residences burnt to the ground, nothing left but ash. Nobody’s been hurt yet, but it’s only a matter of time. And although we know they’re not accidental, we can’t find sources for the fires, and we can’t come up with a link between all the victims, so our current list of suspects looks more like a consensus.”

Malfoy nodded and pursed his lips. “What do I get out of it if I help you?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know—a sense of civic duty?”

“Please try to remember that you’re talking to a Slytherin here, Potter.”

“Fine. What do you want? A comfier mattress?”

Malfoy looked at Harry. “I want to be out of here. Once I am, I can handle my own sleeping arrangements.”

“Not a chance, Malfoy. You’ve still got another four years on your sentence.”

“Commute it then. Until my sentence is finished, I’ll work for you. For your team. We can solve cases together.”

“What makes you think we need your help on our cases?”

Malfoy grinned. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Harry clenched his jaw. “I’ll do you a deal. You tell me what you know about this, and if your information leads us to the suspect, then we’ll talk about an arrangement with the department.”

Malfoy tipped his head back in thought, then looked at Harry again. “Deal. I’d shake on it but, you know”—he rattled his cuffs—“limited movement right now.”

“Tell me what you know.”

Malfoy leaned back in his chair as far as his cuffs would allow. “The Curse of the Crying Boy,” he said, licking his lips, still looking at Harry.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You seem awfully certain about that, after only thirty seconds of staring at pictures.”

Malfoy shrugged. “It’s really not that difficult to figure out, so you can save your suspicious looks for another date in the future. Fires, with no source, leaving nothing but ash… and a painting.” He pointed his index finger at a photo, half covered by a picture of a burnt and still smoking pile of ruins. “The only thing left standing after each incident, was that painting, am I correct?”

Harry pulled out the photo and looked at it. “What can you tell me about it?”

“In 1969, Spanish artist Armadio painted the picture of a crying street urchin he saw wandering the streets of Seville. Despite warnings from a local priest to have nothing to do with the boy because of strange happenings around the child, Armadio adopted him. One day, his art studio caught on fire, and he blamed the little boy, who ran away crying.

“Then, in 1985, a house caught fire in a mining town in South Yorkshire, the flames destroying everything except a painting of a crying boy, which remained completely unscathed. The legend is that the spirit of the little street urchin is caught inside the painting, cursed into setting fires around him forever in an effort to burn the canvas and allow his escape so that he can prove his innocence.” Malfoy smiled as he finished his story.

“Is the legend true?” Harry asked neutrally.

Malfoy laughed. “No, that’s just the muggles using ghosts and curses to explain the unexplainable. At least, to them it’s unexplainable. All they see is a painting that refuses to burn and so assume it must be the cause of the fire in the first place.”

“So what’s the wizarding version?”

“The little boy was a wizard, doing accidental magic. When he was accused of something he didn’t do, he inadvertently managed to curse the only painting left over after the fire, to protect itself from fire to make sure he couldn’t be accused of such a thing again. I’m sure we’ve all done something accidental in our youth, right potter?”

An image of Aunt Marge floating near the ceiling came unbidden into Harry’s mind. “So, you’re saying these are all accidents?”

Malfoy scoffed. “Of course not, Potter. Only one painting was cursed, and that was destroyed by muggles twenty years ago. No, someone is using the legend to exact revenge for something.”

“So there’s definitely a crime going on here.”

“Oh, absolutely. I would suggest that it’s someone who has been accused of something by the families whose houses burnt down, except I’m sure you would have already looked into that.” Malfoy frowned for a moment. “Tell me, Potter, do all these families have school-aged children?”

Harry looked up. “Why would you ask that?”

“Simple, Potter. Things happen around young wizarding children, and so often they’re blamed for doing something when they weren’t at fault. Sometimes it’s not even a burst of accidental magic, sometimes a sibling did something and another caught the blame for it.”

“So, you’re saying,” Harry said slowly, “that somebody is punishing these families for accusing their own children of something they didn’t do?”

“Well, children talk to each other, shout about how unfair life is, don’t they? It stands to reason that someone could overhear them, maybe someone who had been unfairly accused as a child themselves and felt honour-bound to exact revenge on the kids’ behalves.”

“But what has that got to do with the painting and the curse? We still don’t know how the fires are being started.”

Malfoy leaned forward and tapped the back of the photo Harry was still holding. “It’s a copy, a Geminio. Someone got hold of a Geminio copy of the original painting.”

Harry stared at the painting. “How can you tell?”

“Because the Geminio spell creates mirror images. The original painting had the boy looking the other way. It also means that these copies are where your curses are originating from; the mirror image of a curse that protects against fire is one that creates it, after all.”

“So someone’s sending these paintings to the families of kids who have been wrongly accused of things?” Harry frowned. “Seems a bit convoluted if you ask me.”

Malfoy smirked. “Yes, well, I’m sure to a simple mind such as yours, anything more complicated than jumping in with wand and fists would seem ‘a bit convoluted’. But whoever is doing this is setting fire to entire houses over some miscommunication between family members, so I doubt they’re thinking all that clearly.”

Harry gritted his teeth against a heated reply and gathered all the pictures back into the file. “Thanks for the help, Malfoy.” He stood up and gestured to the guard standing outside the door.

“Remember our deal, Potter!” Malfoy said as the guard strode in and unlinked the cuffs from the table. “You never know, us working together could turn out to be fun!”

Harry rolled his eyes and walked down the corridor, away from Malfoy. “Fun isn’t exactly how I’d describe today.”

~~o~~

“As much as I enjoy the occasional kink, must we really have the cuffs on every time you visit?” Malfoy looked up as the guard left the room and rattled his chains. “I’m starting to think you like me like this.”

“It does have a certain appeal.” Harry pulled out the forms from his pocket and looked down at them, refusing to let Malfoy get to him.

Malfoy smiled. “I always knew you weren’t as uptight as all that Gryffindor behaviour suggested.”

“Exactly how much you really know about me, Malfoy, wouldn’t even cover a Post-it note.”

“What’s a Post-it?”

“Never mind.” Harry busied himself looking at the forms, waiting to see how long it would be before Malfoy caved. He didn’t have to wait long.

“So, are you going to tell me why you’re here, or did you just come to look at my pretty eyelashes again?” Malfoy batted said eyelashes, and Harry cursed himself under his breath.

“I’ve come to tell you that you were right,” Harry sighed. “Terence James, a Muggleborn from Yorkshire, took over the caretaker position at Hogwarts, after Mrs Norris died and Filch decided he didn’t want to work there without her.”

“I always knew old Filch was nuts.”

“Anyway, seems Terence didn’t get on with his muggle family, as they blamed him for everything that went wrong in the home. After growing up like that, whenever he overheard students complaining about being accused of things they didn’t do, he took it a little personally.” Harry stopped fiddling with the parchment and looked up at Malfoy, gritting his teeth against the smug smirk on the git’s face.

Malfoy pulled his smirk wider and jangled his cuffs. “And so now you’re here to uphold your end of the deal? Well, let’s get on with it, Potter. As fetching as I usually look in grey, the thread count of these robes leaves a lot to be desired.”

“My end of the deal was to talk about an arrangement, not to actually arrange anything.”

“And if you were a Slytherin, maybe that would worry me.” Malfoy’s smirk didn’t falter. “As a Gryffindor, however, I can only assume that you are here because you’ve already set up an arrangement for me.”

Harry sat back in his seat. “Maybe I’m just here to tell you that I tried and the Minister said no.”

“You wouldn’t come all the way here just for that.” Malfoy shook his head.

“You being pretty isn’t enough of an incentive for me then?”

Malfoy leaned over the table as far as his bonds would allow. “Well, it wasn’t when I thought it was just my eyelashes you were admiring, but now...” He trailed off and lifted his palms up in an affected shrug.

Harry cleared his throat and stared down at the forms again. Sparring with Malfoy always left him feeling strange afterwards: sort of elated yet at the same time unsatisfied. And if he didn’t know any better, he would have said that Malfoy was flirting with him. Even worse, he seemed to be flirting back.

“I spoke to Kingsley,” Harry said, deciding to ignore Malfoy’s last statement. “He’s agreed to release you for the duration of the rest of your sentence, to work with the Curses and Hexes department.” He looked up to find Malfoy watching him smugly. “Under a few conditions,” he added.

“I suspected as much, Potter.” Malfoy leaned back, smirk replaced with a more serious expression.

“First, you are to wear a Locator Anklet, that will be directly linked to the Auror you’re to be assigned to, to monitor your whereabouts at all times. You’ll be given a place to live during your service to the Ministry—you can’t just go back to the Manor.”

Malfoy nodded. “Understood. Next?”

“You will also have to agree to the use of a version of the Dolomentis spell for the duration of your service, linked with your assigned Auror.”

Malfoy frowned. “The Minister seriously expects me to be telepathically linked with someone else for this amount of time?”

Harry shook his head. “I said a version of the spell.”

“So what’s the difference?”

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure.” Harry rifled through the parchment, looking for the spell information he’d been given. “According to the Unspeakable department, the spell will let me know ‘if and when you have thoughts of a criminal nature’.”

“Wait. The spell will let you know?”

Harry smiled grimly. “That’s the last condition.” He raised his eyebrows. “That I’m the Auror you’re assigned to.”

Harry watched the smirk slowly crawl back into place. “Well, then. This should be interesting.”

~~o~~

“It’s no good, Kingsley. I can’t work like this.”

Harry sat in the Minister’s office, rubbing his temples. His stomach felt tight and uncomfortable, nausea crawling up his throat as his headache gave another painful lurch. He threw a glare at the occupant of the chair next to him.

“Damn it, Malfoy, could you stop for five seconds?”

“Sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t know I was doing it!” Malfoy raised his hands.

Kingsley looked down at Malfoy from where he stood leaning against his desk. “What were you just thinking about, Mr Malfoy?”

Malfoy shook his head. “Nothing, I swear!” Kingsley just continued to look at him, and eventually Malfoy sighed and sank down in his seat. “The Sudanese figurine on your shelf.” He pointed up at the wooden carving of a man communing with a snake. “I just thought it would look nice on my dressing room table back at the Manor, that’s all.”

“You weren’t thinking of stealing it?”

Malfoy shrugged. “Only in the vaguest sense. I was more imagining it in its new home, after it had been hypothetically stolen.”

“It’s the spell, Kingsley. It’s too sensitive. Malfoy only has to think about a crime—it doesn’t even need to be of him doing the crime itself—and I get a headache so bad I feel like my skull’s splitting open.” Harry clutched his head and blinked his eyes to clear the tears of pain that had gathered there.

“It does reduce our efficacy somewhat,” Malfoy spoke up. “Considering that my entire purpose for being in this department is to think up how a crime might have been committed.”

Kingsley nodded. “I’ll speak to the Unspeakable department immediately, see if they can come up with a way to reduce the sensitivity of the spell and the effects you have to suffer, Harry.”

Malfoy led Harry back to their office, one hand on his upper arm to guide him as Harry weaved down the corridor and tried to keep down his lunch. He sank gratefully into his chair and almost didn’t notice Malfoy perching on his desk until he felt a cool hand wrapping around the back of his neck. He was in too much pain and the light pressure felt too good to put up a fuss, so he let Malfoy knead his muscles with his smooth fingertips.

“I really am sorry, Potter. I’ve been trying to control my thoughts, but the spell seems to supersede even my attempts at Occlumency.”

“It’s not your fault, Malfoy. You can’t help the way you think.” Harry bit back against a groan as Malfoy’s fingers slipped under his robes and kneaded the top of his spine.

“It’s really quite ironic. All those years at school where I wished with everything I had that I could strike you down with nothing more than my thoughts, and now that it’s come to pass, I feel quite guilty about it.”

Harry snorted. “A Malfoy feeling guilty? Have I slipped and fallen into an alternate universe?”

Malfoy’s fingers slipped away, and he stood up. “I assure you, Potter, I am more than capable of feeling guilt.” He sniffed delicately and turned away. “Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve like you noble Gryffindors, doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

Harry immediately felt like an arse. Malfoy had settled in surprisingly well with Harry’s team of Aurors, his sharp wit and acerbic sense of humour balancing almost perfectly with Luna’s oddness and Anthony Goldstein’s lack of subtlety. Harry had found himself sniggering behind his hands on more than one occasion over the last fortnight and genuinely looking forward to the daily argument over Harry’s desk chair. The verbal sparring between Malfoy and himself had changed since their time at Hogwarts together; no longer actively trying to wound each other, Harry had found that they were surprisingly well balanced when it came to arguing. It exhilarated Harry, the feeling similar to the rush he got when trying to do a Wronski feint on his broom over the Quidditch pitch at the back of the Burrow. Coming to work was no longer a chore he had to drag himself out of bed for in the mornings—these days he Apparated into the Atrium with a smile on his face instead of a yawn.

“I’m sorry, Malfoy. That was uncalled for.”

Malfoy straightened his robes and nodded. “Sometimes, Potter, I swear you’re more Slytherin than Gryffindor. Aren’t those ‘brave at heart’ meant to defend instead of attack?”

“Well, the Sorting Hat must have considered putting me in your House for a reason,” Harry shrugged, trying to lighten the mood and maybe get those cool fingers back on his neck.

Instead, Malfoy’s back straightened, and he turned on the spot. “What did you just say?”

Harry sighed, cursing his inability to keep his mouth shut. Of course Malfoy would be affronted that his school rival was almost Sorted into his own House. “The Sorting Hat said I would do well in Slytherin. I asked it to put me somewhere else,” Harry said flatly, hoping to move on from the subject as quickly as possible. He stood up, rubbing his own neck. “It’s not important—”

“Are you telling me that you might have been in Slytherin, but you asked to be put somewhere else?”

Malfoy’s voice was deadly quiet, and he hadn’t moved back from the desk when Harry stood up. They were now almost nose to nose, and Harry had to look up the extra inch that Malfoy had on him in height. “Look, it doesn’t matter now, Malfoy, can’t we just forget about it?”

Malfoy’s eyes flicked down, and Harry watched as he licked his lips. “I can’t believe—”

“There you are, Harry! Oh sorry, am I interrupting?”

Harry stumbled back at the same time as Malfoy, his hip banging painfully against the corner of the desk. “No, Luna, we were just... talking.”

Luna smiled and bounced on the balls of her feet. “Did you want me to come back later so you can finish kissing?”

“Kiss—what? Luna, we weren’t—” Harry stammered to a halt as Luna just smiled brightly. “Was there something you wanted me for, Luna?”

“Oh! Yes, Padma down in the Unspeakable department says she might have a solution for you.” She continued dancing in place, her eyes sparkling.

“Right. Good. Come on, Malfoy, the quicker we get this sorted, the better.” Harry walked towards the door, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks as well as the blush on Malfoy’s that went deeper at the mention of the word ‘sorted’.

~~o~~

Harry steeled himself before Apparating straight into Malfoy’s living room, readying himself for the tirade that was sure to come his way. Malfoy had been deadly silent as Padma had explained the adjustments to the spell and then performed the new version on them both. Malfoy had looked particularly vicious as Padma had asked him to purposefully think of something illegal, and Harry had braced himself for yet more head splitting pain. However, all that had happened was a more gentle knocking against the inside of his skull, like the beginnings of a headache that went away before it could turn into anything definite. Malfoy had scowled and stormed out of the Ministry before Harry could follow him. A quick check on the anklet, though, showed Malfoy to be pacing in his ministry-appointed flat. Harry thought it was a little bit dramatic for Malfoy to throw a fit just because Harry had rejected his precious Slytherin House when he was eleven years old, and he had half a mind to just punch the git and tell him to get over himself. However, Harry needed Malfoy, and he needed him to be willing to help, rather than sulking in a corner. Their solve rate had gone up by 200 percent in just the two weeks that Malfoy had been working for them, and as Harry was head of the Curses and Hexes Auror division, he couldn’t afford to just let that go. He had decided to ignore the fierce twinge in his chest at the thought of coming into work the following day to a cold and unwilling Malfoy.

Predictably, Malfoy was less than pleased to see him. He dropped his tea cup and swore loudly as Harry Apparated almost on top of him.

“For fuck’s sake, can I not come home and be pissed off in peace?”

“Not for the next four years, no,” Harry replied flippantly.

Malfoy glared at him. “I’m pretty sure that you following me everywhere I go simply to annoy me wasn’t a part of my release deal.” He repaired his cup and vanished its contents from the rug. “Go away, Potter. Before I think up some incredibly nefarious plan that will make your head explode.”

“The new spell stops that from happening now.” Harry sat down on the arm of the sofa, ignoring Malfoy’s angry glare. “And I’m not going anywhere until we sort this out, Malfoy. If we can’t get over something as stupid as this, then I can’t see us working very well long term.” He looked up at Malfoy, wincing as he saw the angry flush of his pale cheeks.

“Something as stupid—I can’t fucking believe you!” Malfoy stormed into the kitchen, muttering under his breath about stupid speccy-eyed gits and bloody fucking Potter.

Harry got up and followed him, watching Malfoy as he stomped around the kitchen, making himself another cup of tea and pointedly refusing to offer Harry any. Harry shook his head. “I don’t get it, Malfoy. Why are you so angry about this?”

“Well, of course you don’t get it! The Great Harry Potter, the Almighty Gryffindor King, too busy being perfect to look past the end of his nose and notice the people around him!” Malfoy threw the spoon into the cup so violently the porcelain cracked down the middle.

Harry scowled. “Somehow, out of the people here, I don’t think that description matches me the best, Malfoy.” He stalked forward and pushed Malfoy away from the counter, repairing the cup for its second time and pouring the hot water into it. “For God’s sake, it’s just a school house! So what if I decided I didn’t want to go into Slytherin? I’m sorry if my choosing another house hurts your feelings or whatever, but it was fourteen years ago! Get over it!”

“It’s got nothing to do with the house,” Malfoy said in a strangled voice. “Because you didn’t choose another house. You chose another person.”

Harry turned around. Once more, they were standing so close he could feel Malfoy’s panted breath on his face. “What are you talking about?”

Malfoy closed his eyes and bit down on his lower lip. “Why did you choose Gryffindor, Harry?”

The use of his first name startled the answer out of Harry before he could think to do otherwise. “Because Ron said—”

“Exactly!” Malfoy opened his eyes in triumph. “He wasn’t the only one to offer you a hand in friendship on the train. But you chose him over me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, you were a git, weren’t you? Besides, Ron was the first wizard I’d even met, apart from Hagrid.”

“No, he wasn’t.” Malfoy’s voice was quiet.

Harry frowned. “What do you mean? Of course he was!”

“He wasn’t, because I met you. In Madame Malkin’s. Of course, I didn’t know who you were at the time.”

Harry froze. He’d forgotten all about that moment. But now the memory became as crystal clear as if it had happened just a few hours before—the worry over fitting in, over being an orphan in a world of wizarding families, and the quiet awe over the pale little boy standing next to him, so sure and confident. Harry had wanted to be like him so badly.

“So you see,” Malfoy went on quietly. “You met me twice, and yet you still chose him over me.”

“Okay, I get it,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice even. “You’re upset because I didn’t choose to be friends with you instead of Ron.”

“No! That’s not the point!” Malfoy ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “The point is that I spent the month before school wondering if that boy I met in Madame Malkin’s might turn out to be the one friendship my father hadn’t manipulated for me! I spent four whole weeks hoping that just once I could get to choose who I wanted to be friends with!” Malfoy stepped back and started pacing the tiny kitchen. “And then I found out who you were, and some stupid little part of me was still hoping we could be friends. But then you were Sorted into Gryffindor and I realised we could never be anything other than enemies. And I have spent every day since then alternately hating you and thinking that I must be completely fucking insane!”

“Insane?” Harry echoed. “Why?”

Malfoy stopped his pacing and stepped back up close to Harry, breathing heavily, a flush painting his cheeks. “Because,” he said, biting down on his lip, “I couldn’t stop wanting to do this.” He reached up, cupping Harry’s face between his palms, as he leaned in and closed the distance between them.

All of Harry’s senses hit him like a thunderbolt. He could feel the hard edge of the kitchen counter digging into his back, fading into the background in the face of Malfoy’s hands against his heated skin. The bright sparkle of Malfoy’s grey eyes superimposed itself on Harry’s eyelids as he shut them instinctively, replaying the last second before soft lips met his. He could smell Malfoy’s shampoo—it smelled like apples—and that fresh, clean, minty scent that was ever-present when he stepped up close to a cauldron of Amortentia. He could hear his heart beat as it threatened to burst right out of his chest as a slick tongue licked across the seam of his lips, and he gasped, allowing entry. The very taste of Malfoy, tea leaves and mint and perfect and right sent electricity zinging down Harry’s spine, forcing his hands to reach out and drag Malfoy closer by his hips before he was even able to process what was happening.

His brain had checked out for the moment, leaving Harry with nothing but the feel of Malfoy’s hips against his, the sounds of Malfoy’s quiet moans as he swallowed them down, the taste of Malfoy on his tongue. And it was amazing. And terrifying, because he could taste everything he had ever wanted for himself, but it was just an illusion, it had to be, because he could never actually have those things with Draco Malfoy. With effort, Harry pushed Malfoy away and took a deep, heaving breath.

“Harry,” Malfoy whispered, and Harry clenched his eyes shut.

“I have to... I need to...” He took another deep breath and Apparated straight out of Malfoy’s flat.

~~o~~

“What about the anklet?” Ginny asks, pouring herself another firewhisky.

“What about it?” Harry takes the bottle from her; he’s much more interested in getting completely pickled than eating apple crumble right now.

“Well, isn’t it supposed to ping or something? Let you know when he’s stepped out of bounds?”

Ron leans over the table and pulls Ginny’s half empty bowl towards him. “Those things are dead easy to get around. They’re practically useless.”

“Ron’s right, they are. We practised with them a bit during training; Dean managed to get out of one using a Confundus Charm once.”

Hermione frowns. “Then what’s the point of them?”

“They’re a deterrent, aren’t they?” Ron speaks around his mouthful. “The ones wearing them don’t know how easy they are to get out of, do they? So they’re less likely to think about going out of bounds.”

Harry studiously studied the table in front of him, following the grain with a fingernail. He doesn’t want to see the look on Hermione’s face right now.

“When you’ve finished stuffing your face, Ron, it’s your turn to do the dishes,” Hermione says.

“Wha?” Ron swallows his last mouthful hastily. “Why is it my turn? I’ve been at work all week!”

“And what do you think I’ve been doing all day? Darning your bloody socks?”

“No, course not, I didn’t mean—”

“Do we have to have the conversation about how I am not your mother and won’t pick up after you while we have guests?” Hermione whispers furiously.

Ginny snorts into her glass, and Harry sinks down lower in his seat. For all that Hermione insists on not being treated like Molly Weasley, she can certainly sound a lot like her. Ron stands up from the table, blushing a deep red and grumbling under his breath as he picks up the plates. As soon as he is out of earshot, Hermione turns to Harry.

“Does Malfoy know about the anklet?”

“Hermione,” Harry warns, shifting his gaze over to Ginny, who rolls her eyes.

“Please, Harry,” Ginny says. “Apart from the fact that I can read you like a book, my girlfriend works in your department. I know all about you and Draco.”

Harry splutters. “What d’you... when did... Luna shouldn’t be talking to you about our cases!”

“You and Draco shagging up against your office wall is hardly an active case, Harry.” Ginny grins and leans over the table. “Or was it imperative to a case that you stick your—”

“Ginny!” Hermione almost shrieks as Harry groans into his hands. Ginny leans back again, laughing, as Hermione glares at her. “What Ginny is trying to say is that we know, Harry.”

Harry peeks through his fingers, his face burning. “You do?”

Hermione nods. “Ginny’s right, you’re so easy to read. Yes, we know, Harry, and we’re okay with it.”

“Oh, I’m more than okay with it,” Ginny interrupts with a lewd waggle of her eyebrows. “It makes for quite an interesting night at home every time Luna catches you two at it.”

Hermione gives her another dirty look, but Harry ignores her. “When you say ‘we’...” He trails off.

Hermione makes a face. “I haven’t told Ron yet. I was waiting for you to be ready to tell us all, which you obviously aren’t yet. But he’ll be fine with it too, I’m sure.”

“What will I be fine with?”

Harry turns around to see Ron leaning up against the doorway, damp tea towel slung over his shoulder. It’s a rule in Hermione’s house that some things should be done the muggle way, for reasons she has tried to explain numerous times and both Harry and Ron have failed to understand.

“I... Uh, me and Draco, we, uh.” Harry stammers but can’t seem to make the words come out.

Luckily for him, Ginny is still in the room.

“Harry and Draco are at it like kneazles,” she says gleefully.

“You’re what?”

~~o~~

The Atrium was in its usual morning rush when Harry Apparated in the next day. He’d spent the rest of the night tossing and turning in his bed, finally giving up on sleep at around three in the morning and giving in to pacing his flat instead. All because of that kiss. He was tired and grumpy, he was pretty sure his robes were on back to front, and he needed coffee. Preferably administered intravenously.

But all of that pretty much paled in comparison to the way his stomach was tied up in knots over having to see Draco again after that kiss—and Harry was determinedly ignoring the question of just when exactly Malfoy had become Draco in his head—and what he was going to say.

Because it was Draco, and nothing about Harry’s interactions with Draco had ever been simple, and Harry had absolutely no idea what the blond git was going to say or do when they saw each other again. Was he going to laugh in his face and tell him it was all just a joke? Sneer at him for running away? Smile and say he’d thought better of it and decided he wasn’t interested in Harry after all? Practically anything was possible when it came to Draco, and almost every single scenario had Harry’s stomach squeezing tighter and tighter and making it hard for him to breathe. He trailed down the corridors towards their shared office, feeling at once both queasy with nerves and light-headed from something that almost felt like anticipation. Eventually he reached the office and found Draco leaning against his desk, reading the Daily Prophet with one hand while holding out an extra-large coffee cup, and Harry just kind of slid to a halt and stared because this definitely hadn’t been one of the ways he thought this would go.

Without looking up from his paper, Draco waggled the coffee in Harry’s direction. “I figured you could use one of these,” he said lightly, not backing down until Harry took the cup from him. “Luna and Goldstein have been assigned to a high priority case, so it’s just you and me for the rest of the week.” He finally looked up, and Harry could see that as much as he was trying to affect a cool facade, there was a fine line between his eyebrows that told Harry he was nervous. And since when had he been able to read Draco so well?

Harry summoned his inner Gryffindor and took a deep breath. “Draco, we need to talk.”

Malfoy nodded. “I agree. I was actually planning to talk to you last night, before you ran away.” He cocked his head to the side. “Scared, were you?”

Terrified, actually. “Surprised,” Harry conceded, and took a mouthful of coffee, which was made, somehow, exactly how he liked it. “Listen, Draco... That…”—bloody gorgeous kiss—“what happened, it can’t happen again.”

“I see.” Draco put his hands in his pockets, still regarding Harry with that cool grey gaze. “May I ask why?” Harry spluttered over his next mouthful of coffee, because he hadn’t actually worked that part out yet. He had a reason, he did, but it was difficult to remember what it was when Draco looked at him like that. Or stood really close to him. Or was in the same room.

Draco continued calmly. “You see, I know it isn’t because you don’t like blokes, because you went out with that Nicholas fellow over in Accounting.” And how the bloody hell did he know that? It was over months ago! “And judging by your response last night, it’s not because you don’t find me attractive. I mean,” he said, he smirking slightly, “this is me, after all.” Harry rolled his eyes. “So to my understanding, there are only two possibilities. One, we can’t because of a ministry policy against inter-office relationships.” His tone of voice told Harry what he thought of that particular option. “Or two, we can’t because I’m a Malfoy.” His voice got quieter at the end of his sentence, and just like that, Harry knew he was fucked.

There was no policy against inter-office relationships, which Draco knew full well. Harry could try to come up with another plausible reason that wasn’t you scare the fuck out of me, but he knew that Draco would see through anything he could come up with in a heartbeat and would then assume it was because of his last reason. And Harry couldn’t let him think that because of that tiny crack in Draco’s voice as he uttered his own last name.

So Harry did what he always did when truly fucked: he jumped in with both feet and firmly told the consequences that he would deal with them later.

Both the coffee and the paper went flying as Harry dropped everything he was holding and reeled Draco in by the front of his robes. Draco squeaked in surprise before moaning into Harry’s mouth, his hands coming up to slide into Harry’s hair, pulling their bodies closer together. Where their first kiss was full of surprise, this one was all heat: fingers pulling at clothes and teeth biting at lips, tongues battling against each other in an effort to be the first to consume. Harry pushed into Draco, making him stumble backwards until he hit Harry’s desk behind him. Draco gave as good as he got, pulling Harry along with him, sliding a knee between Harry’s thighs and slipping his fingers beneath his robes to stroke against bare skin. Harry whimpered with need and rode Draco’s thigh, and suddenly he knew he was never going to know how to give this up. Because how could he walk away from something that felt like he was made to do? The thought terrified him and he was in Draco’s kitchen all over again, desperate with the need to be somewhere else before he made a bigger mistake but he just couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

“Oh, for God’s sake.”

Both Harry and Draco froze at the voice behind them, and Draco ducked his head into the crook of Harry’s shoulder as Harry turned to face the music. Anthony Goldstein was there, a frown on his face as he dug into his robe pockets. Luna stood next to him, her face serene as her eyes sparkled happily. She held her hand out, and Harry was surprised when Anthony dropped a handful of galleons into it.

Harry was shocked into asking, “You were betting on this happening?” Draco lifted his head.

Anthony gave Harry and Draco a dirty look. “I said it would take at least a month. All the pub rounds are going to have to be on you two for the next few weeks—that was my entire pint fund.”

Luna bounced on her feet as she slipped her winnings into her pocket. “Well, I did have an unfair advantage,” she said, reaching over to her desk to grab a file. “The Wrigglemuffs in their auras were very telling.” She squinted over at Harry and Draco and then smiled. “They seem to be happy now, at least.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Right, Wrigglemuffs, of course.” He grabbed his cloak from where it hung against the wall. “You two had better have cleared a few of our cases by the time we’re back. If I have to suffer through an office romance, then I should at least benefit from a few closed cases. Come on, Luna.”

Luna gave them a wave and skipped out of the room. Anthony followed her out, stopping at the threshold to point back at Harry and Draco. “And no shagging on my desk!”

Harry stood in the sudden silence in relative shock, aware of the feel of Draco’s fingertips, still caught beneath Harry’s waistband, idly stroking his hipbone. Harry cleared his throat. “We should get to work.”

Draco nodded, pulling away as he stood himself up straighter, and Harry mourned the loss of his cool fingers against his overheated skin. “We should. Cursed artefacts and art thieves to catch and all that.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

Well. This wasn’t going to be awkward at all.

~~o~~

It was incredibly awkward. At least until almost a fortnight later, when the rock ceiling caved in over them, and they found themselves trapped inside a cave, Draco’s wand broken in half and blood congealing thick and sticky down the side of Harry’s face. The group of thieves they had been chasing had rigged the ceiling to blow upon their discovery. After the explosion, the thieves had managed to escape out the labyrinth of tunnels and back into the dense jungle surrounding them, leaving Harry and Draco stuck in a rubble-filled room with not much else than a golden statue of a jaguar sitting serenely in its little alcove. That they couldn’t even touch because, naturally, it was cursed.

After spending what seemed like a month searching the cave for a way out, Draco slipped out of his outer robe and calmly ripped a strip of cloth from the end to hold to Harry’s head wound. “You know,” he said conversationally as Harry looked up at him and tried to blink the dizziness from his eyes, “this isn’t exactly how I imagined our first sleepover starting out.”

Harry wheezed out a laugh. “What are you talking about? For a Gryffindor, this is the height of romance.”

Draco hummed. “I’m aware. I just thought there would at least be an accessible bed somewhere close by.”

“We have some rocks?”

“Oh yes, most considerate of you to arrange those to fall so aesthetically when you ran in without checking the boundaries for spells first.”

Harry frowned. “Ashfetty—what?”

“I honestly can’t tell if you’re concussed or if long words just usually confuse you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry gritted his teeth and pulled himself into a sitting position. Draco knelt beside him, and Harry leaned his shoulder into Draco’s ribs to keep himself upright. “Where’s my wand? We need to get out of here.”

“Stunning observation, Potter, I’m so glad that out of all the people to get trapped in a cave with, I ended up with you.”

“No need to be sarcastic, Malfoy.”

“Sorry, I get a little tetchy when there’s a chance I might run out of oxygen.”

Harry snorted. “You get ‘a little tetchy’ when you get dust on your shoes. Believe me, I’m used to it. Now, help me up so we can find my wand and get out of here.”

Draco grumbled under his breath but did as he was asked, pulling himself up to standing and linking his arms under Harry’s shoulders. Harry leaned back against Draco’s chest for a minute to chase away the black spots in his vision, letting the feel of Draco’s heartbeat set the rhythm for his own breathing. Once he felt as though he could breathe without the crushing weight on his chest threatening to steal his voice, he spoke.

“I think I dropped my wand when the first boulder fell.” He indicated the shadowy lumps of stone near what he presumed was the now-blocked entrance. “We should start over there.”

Using Draco’s arm as a crutch, Harry hobbled over, biting his lip against the cry at the pain shooting up his left leg that told him he more than likely had a few broken bones. There was a lot of scrabbling around in the dim light, and Harry was certain he was more of a hindrance in the process, what with the way he had to hang off Draco’s arm to keep himself from falling into a heap on the dusty floor. But eventually the wonderful sound of Draco celebrating echoed around the cave as he held Harry’s wand aloft. He tried to hand it to Harry, but Harry shook his head, clutching tighter to Draco’s sleeve.

“If I try to Apparate like this, Splinching students will probably have a new horror story. You’ll have to do it.”

Draco nodded and flexed his fingers around the wood. He cast a few of the same small spells Harry always did when he had to get a feel for a different wand, and then he moved in closer to Harry, sliding an arm around his waist and pulling him flush against his chest. Harry sunk his head gratefully onto Draco’s shoulder, his eyes already slipping closed despite how hard he tried to fight it. He thought he heard Draco mutter something about stupid noble Gryffindors as the familiar tug told him they were Apparating, and then the darkness came to claim him.

~~o~~

The Healers in St Mungos were of course able to sort out, within an hour, the concussion, the cracked ribs, and the fractured femur Harry had suffered. Draco spent that time pacing around the private room—private because all Aurors were given that priority, which was good because Harry wouldn’t have accepted it for any other reason—muttering to himself and generally getting in the Healers’ ways. After hearing Mr Malfoy, please for the fifth time, Harry forced his eyes open and stared Draco into a chair by the window.

“Don’t get angry at Healer Barnes, Draco. She’s only trying to fix me up.”

“I’m not mad at Healer Barnes, Potter.”

Considering that Draco now only used his surname when he was either being sarcastic or because he was pissed off with Harry, the name gave Harry a sudden sense of foreboding. Harry kept his eyes on Draco as Healer Barnes fluttered around him, repeating her diagnostic spells at least three times in quick succession, obviously unwilling to let him go too easily. Draco simply sat in the chair and looked through the charmed window, most likely looking to anybody else as calm and collected, even bored with the proceedings. But Harry could see the way his muscles were tightly coiled, the tenseness along his back, as though he were poised for a fight. Harry suppressed a sigh; they had been getting on well recently, despite the awkwardness. They hadn’t touched each other again since that morning in the office, but the desire to do so rolled constantly in Harry’s stomach, making his throat tighten and his fingers itch to just reach out and touch… But then the terror would set in again, and he would stumble back. Because Harry knew himself, and he could recognise the signs, and he knew he was standing on a precipice. Draco already held too much power over him, had done since the moment they had met on the train, that uncanny ability of his to just take over Harry’s mind until every thought was revolving around the Slytherin. And that was fine as long as his thoughts were filled with what Draco might be plotting, what he might be up to next, how to figure out Draco’s plans. But anything else? That was the precipice Harry kept trying to tiptoe away from, because falling would mean giving the one person he shouldn’t all the tools he would need to break him. That one kiss had Harry staring into the abyss, and it wore Draco’s face as it stared back at him.

Harry blinked out of his reverie as Healer Barnes’ wand started its fourth pass over him, and he gently grabbed her wrist. “I’m really fine. I’d like to get out of here, please.”

Healer Barnes cast a glare over to where Draco still sat, staring out of the window as though he couldn’t dream of anywhere else to be. “You should have someone who can stay with you,” she said, her frown turning into something closer to pity as she looked back at Harry. “We might be able to heal head injuries quickly, but the side effects of a concussion are still very serious.”

“I can stay with him.”

Both Harry and the healer turned to look at Draco, who still faced the window. Healer Barnes raised a sceptical eyebrow, but Harry beamed widely and raised his hands to show that he approved of this plan, which he did. Hell, he’d take a blast-ended skrewt over staying in hospital any longer. Healer Barnes ran her tongue over her teeth and pursed her lips but eventually nodded.

“Fine. If you feel safe going home with Mr Malfoy.” She raised both eyebrows as though giving Harry a chance to change his mind. When he merely sat still and waited, she continued with a sigh. “I’m prescribing bed rest, for at least twenty-four hours, and no strenuous activity. I’m signing you off from work for a few days, too, to make sure you get enough rest.”

Chafing a bit at the thought of being told to take time off work, Harry struggled to keep his wince from reaching his face. He didn’t need to give Healer Barnes another reason to brandish her wand at him again. Instead, he smiled widely and hopped off the bed, giving her what he hoped was a jaunty little wave.

“Thanks for fixing me up, Healer Barnes.”

The woman hummed and threw Draco yet another dirty look before swiftly leaving the room, her robes billowing out behind her. Harry checked himself over, grimacing at the blood stain that covered his shirt. His Auror robes were most certainly ruined. Now that they were alone, the sense of foreboding Harry had had returned stronger. He chanced a glance at Draco, who sighed and stood up, holding out his hand. For a wild moment, Harry thought Draco was offering to hold hands of all things, and even more wildly, he found himself reaching out in response. Instead, he felt cool wood slip into his fingers, and Harry stared down at his returned wand.

“I hope you’re up for Apparating now,” Draco drawled, still not looking at Harry. “Seeing as I shall now be without a wand until I can get a new one.”

Harry nodded and stepped closer. “We can share mine until you do,” he replied, and grabbed Draco’s wrist, pulling him into the squeezing darkness and back to Harry’s flat.

“A little warning would be nice.” Draco ripped himself out of Harry’s grip as soon as Harry’s front step materialised in front of them. He stepped up to the door and waited, still not looking at Harry as he opened the door for them both.

Harry sighed and pushed the door open, stepping back to let Draco in first. Despite the fact that Harry was the supposed invalid, Draco didn’t wait to offer him help with anything, choosing instead to stalk down the hallway and into the kitchen. Harry stayed in the hall, leaning back against the door. “You know, you don’t actually have to stay here with me, I’m really fine. Not even so much as a headache, honestly.” In fact, all Harry wanted was a shower and some alone time so he could work out just what Draco was in such a snit about.

Draco mumbled back something that Harry couldn’t hear over the sudden boiling of the kettle, and he was forced to join him in the kitchen. “Look, if this is about me getting rock dust in your hair, then I’m really sorry, okay? Feel free to use my shower and everything.”

Draco dropped the kettle back on the stove top with a loud clunk and gripped the edge of the counter hard. Without turning to face Harry, he nodded. “I think that would be a good idea, actually.”

Harry rolled his eyes and waved his arm towards his bedroom. “Be my guest.” He carefully refrained from kicking Draco in the shins as he stalked back past him, still without acknowledging his presence. Fine, if Draco was going to act like a childish git just because of an accident, then Harry was just going to ignore him until he got over it.

The shower snapped on, and Harry busied himself with making cups of tea so that he wouldn’t be tempted to think of Draco standing naked in his shower. Of course it didn’t work, but at least the spilled sugar gave his shaking hands something to do as he reminded himself that he was pissed off at Draco’s current attitude. And then the shower stopped running, and Harry found himself holding his breath as he waited for Draco and his frosty temper to return.

Instead, Draco called to him through his closed bedroom door. “Harry? I don’t exactly have anything clean to wear.”

Of course, that just made everything worse, because now Harry didn’t just have images of Draco standing naked in his shower, but also standing naked in his room. By his bed. Where he had maybe, once or twice, wanked himself off to thoughts of Draco’s skin and hands and lazy smirk. Okay, maybe it had happened more than once or twice, like, every single bloody night since that damned kiss.

Harry forced his feet to remain exactly where they were and cleared his throat. “Um, there’re some clothes in the bottom drawer of my dresser that might fit. Try those.”

Draco didn’t reply, but Harry could hear him moving around behind the closed door, so he busied himself with the tea, hoping he might be able to pass off the flush on his face as proximity to the steam from the kettle. He carried the mugs into the living room to give himself something to do, sitting down on the sofa and recounting the Chudley Cannons league stats in his head to keep his mind from thinking about whatever might be happening behind his bedroom door.

He sighed in relief as he heard the door open, because at least now there would be clothes getting in the way of his concussion-induced lusty thoughts. He turned his head as Draco entered the room and almost whimpered out loud, because Draco standing there naked with a bloody bow tied around his dick would have been less painful.

He’d picked out a pair of whitewashed jeans that were too long in the leg and too tight around the waist for Harry but looked as though they were made as a second skin for Draco. His hair was still wet, turning the blond into a dark gold that matched the lettering on the black V-neck t-shirt, which read Catch my Snitch. As Draco moved into the room and picked up his mug of tea, Harry noticed that the charmed snitch had relocated itself to hover tantalisingly just above the hem of the back of the shirt, drawing Harry’s eye straight to Draco’s perfectly shaped arse. Harry groaned, because of course.

“You should probably wash all that stuff out of your hair too,” Draco said. He still wasn’t looking at Harry, but right at that moment all Harry could think about was getting away from Draco and his bare fucking feet, so he jumped at the excuse.

“Right! Yes, shower. Fantastic idea.” Harry shot up off the sofa and practically ran into his room, needing to get as far away from Draco as possible before he did something incredibly stupid like climb onto his lap and chase that bloody snitch around Draco’s body. With his teeth.

He showered quickly, forcing himself not to think about the fact that Draco had been standing in this spot just minutes before, and wondered just when his life had spiralled so completely out of control. Despite his friends teasing him about his atrocious eyesight, Harry wasn’t actually blind. He’d known for a long time just how attractive Draco was; he’d figured that out back in sixth year when he had been following the Slytherin so closely. But there was a big difference between acknowledging Draco was beautiful and finding it hard to concentrate at work because all he could think about was climbing Draco like a bloody tree.

Except now, it seemed to be getting even worse, because Harry couldn’t help but notice how good Draco’s pale feet looked against his black sofa cushions, or how the sight of Draco in Harry’s kitchen made something curl loose and warm in his chest, or how Draco wearing Harry’s clothes made his heart beat in his chest with something that felt like possession and want. Harry had realised years ago that he just wasn’t cut out for one-night stands or a friends-with-benefits situation. He couldn’t help it; he needed more than just the occasional round of sex without any feelings attached. He supposed it was the Gryffindor in him, that infernal need to jump into everything with both feet. But Draco was a Slytherin, and they used any means to get themselves where they needed to be, including sex. Not to mention the fact that he was Draco, and Harry was, well, Harry. Anything that happened between them was bound to end badly. And Harry was the one who would suffer the most, because he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from throwing everything he had into it.

Harry sighed and shut the shower off, towelling himself dry and sighing as he remembered he still had a very cranky Draco out in his living room. He thought back to when they were stuck in the cave, wondering just what he had done to make Draco so angry. Sure, he’d forgotten to check the boundary before jumping straight in, but neither of them had been seriously hurt. Well, Draco hadn’t, at least. Harry had made sure to push him out of the way of the falling rocks. And besides, Harry had been fixed up easily enough, hadn’t he? And okay, yes, Draco’s wand had been snapped in half as he fell, but he could easily get another one, and Harry had even offered him the use of his own until he got it replaced, hadn’t he? And yes, so Draco may have got a little bit of dust, alright a lot of dust, on his robes and in his perfect hair, but it really wasn’t the end of the world, and Harry had offered him the use of his shower and even his bloody clothes, so what exactly did Draco have to complain about? Honestly, if he was going to worry that much about the state of his hair…

Harry pulled up his grey sweatpants and paused with his t-shirt still over his head. Was that the problem? Had Draco been worried, even scared? Harry pulled the t-shirt on as he thought about it. It was a possibility. It was the first time that Draco had been in a situation like that. Until now he had mainly sat in their office, spinning himself in Harry’s chair as he figured out how the bad guys were getting away with their heists and who they might be, before leaving Harry and his team to go about their arrests. He wasn’t a trained Auror like Harry—he hadn’t been tested in the field. Maybe he really had been worried that they were going to suffocate back in that cave?

Harry walked back into the living room, not bothering to do his hair. It wasn’t like he ever had any control over it anyway. He forwent the sofa he had been sitting on before and sat down next to Draco instead, purposefully not looking at how perfectly his bare feet nestled in between the cushions.

“Were you scared you were going to get hurt?”

Draco almost spat out his mouthful of tea as he turned and stared at Harry. Harry tried not to dwell on how the knot in his chest loosened at the feel of those storm-grey eyes resting upon him once again.

“Was I what?” Draco stared at him incredulously.

Harry shrugged. “It’s only natural. You haven’t had the same training I have. I wouldn’t blame you for getting scared you were going to get hurt, maybe even die, instead of remaining calm, like Auror training taught me to do.” A blush started creeping up Draco’s cheeks, and his eyes turned into cold steel. Harry continued, desperate to move past this so they could get back to working well together. “And I mean, it was my fault the ceiling fell in, so if you’re angry with me because I dragged you into danger, then I can understand that. But it would help if you would just tell me, so I can try to fix it.”

Draco stared at him for a long time. Then he leaned forward and placed his mug on the coffee table with exaggerated slowness. When he was finally rested back against the sofa, he frowned down at his lap.

“Tell me, Potter. Are you actually as dense as you look?” Harry frowned and opened his mouth to defend himself, because he did not look dense at all, thank you, but Draco continued in his careful tone. “Sometimes I wonder how you even manage to tie your own shoelaces without Granger whispering instructions in your ear.”

“Hey!”

“You actually think I was scared that I was going to get hurt?” Draco turned in his seat to stare at Harry, his eyes glacial chips as he whispered in a tone that sent shivers down Harry’s back.

Harry gulped. “Well, then, if it’s not that, then why are you so pissed off at me?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way that you’ve been backing away from me ever since that morning in your office. I kissed you and you ran away. Fine, I can handle that. But then you tell me that it can’t happen, and then you kiss me.” Draco ran his hands through his hair in obvious frustration. “And then you back away from me and keep backing away for two weeks and I don’t care, alright? I don’t.” He spat the words out and sneered at Harry. “You want to pretend there’s nothing here between us? Fine. But then you push me out of the way and get clobbered on the head by a load of rocks and you think I’m angry because you ‘dragged me into danger’?” Draco stared furiously at Harry. “I’m angry because you keep pushing me away and then reeling me back in with your stupid Gryffindor nobility, and I just want you to fucking pick one!”

Harry swallowed. “I don’t understand,” he said finally, shaking his head.

Draco sighed. “Yes, I was scared, Harry. But because you got hurt. And I’m angry because I can never tell if you do these things for me, or if it’s just because throwing yourself between others and danger is just what you do.” He looked down at his hands, fingers running up and down the inseam of his borrowed jeans.

Harry watched him, took in the way his chest heaved even as he tried to keep his calm façade in place, the little line between his brows that was the only evidence of his nerves, the way his fingers kept moving to disguise their shaking. Harry wondered how he could have ever not realised that he had always been able to read Draco this easily. Watching Draco and understanding him was as ingrained into Harry as knowing how to fly; it was just natural.

The collar of Draco’s black t-shirt had slipped, and Harry could no longer resist leaning closer, reaching out and touching his fingertips to the pale stretch of collarbone peeking out. “Can’t it be both?” he asked quietly.

Draco turned his head and looked at him, his eyes skimming over Harry’s face. Whatever he saw there brought him to a decision, because he nodded once, and swallowed. “Yeah,” he whispered, one hand reaching up to touch the side of Harry’s head, where the rocks had split his skin. “Yeah, I guess it can.”

Harry wasn’t sure if it was he who pressed their lips together or Draco, but it didn’t much matter. All that mattered was the feel of Draco’s lips against his, the way Draco’s fingers trailed down over his scar to cup his cheek, the stretch in his thighs as he straddled Draco’s legs and brought their chests flush together. He was still scared, still terrified, of how this would end, and a small voice in the back of his mind screamed that this was a terrible idea, but the fire in his veins was slowly burning out all rational thought, and all Harry could think was that he needed to get closer to Draco, needed to run his fingers all over that pale skin, just needed to feel Draco against him, around him, inside him.

Harry moaned as he felt cool fingers slide beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, biting down on Malfoy’s bottom lip and soothing the sting with his tongue. He rocked his hips down as he felt Draco responding to him, and smiled to himself as Draco’s hips jerked up in shock. Draco’s hands slid up his back, under his t-shirt, stoking the fire higher as he pulled Harry closer, closer, closer…

Draco’s hips bucked again, dislodging Harry but following him down onto the sofa. And Harry really wasn’t thinking now, could only struggle to get his fingers to work on Draco’s jeans, flipping open the top button and sliding down the zipper. One of Draco’s hands had slid back down to his waistband, gripping tight to Harry’s hip and drawing maddeningly slow circles into his skin. They still hadn’t stopped kissing, tongues retreating only to come back for more, teeth biting and lips pulling, and Harry thought he was going to explode from the white heat building between every point that their bodies touched.

Their movements became more frantic, kisses harder and fingers fumbling, until Harry finally managed to get the tips of his fingers between Draco’s skin and his tight, tight jeans and shoved with mindless intent, still needing to get closer, closer, closer. Draco hummed his approval into Harry’s mouth and gripped the top of his sweatpants, dragging them down slowly, too fucking slowly, until Harry thought he was going to lose his fucking mind he had waited so long to feel him, come on, and then finally they were there, and Draco shifted, lining himself up against Harry, and just like that, everything clicked into place.

Draco finally removed his lips from Harry’s only to move them slowly down over his jaw to the sensitive spot below his ear. Harry whined, and Draco chuckled low in his throat, sending vibrations into Harry’s skin and right down to his groin. Fingers gently caressed Harry’s face, trailing over his scar and round his glasses, thumb brushing over his lips. Harry stuck his tongue out and licked Draco’s palm, sucking each finger slowly into his mouth and humming as Draco squirmed above him at the sensation.

Draco slowly pulled his little finger from between Harry’s lips, lifting his head to stare down at Harry as he fit his hand between them. Harry gasped as he felt Draco’s slick fingers wrap around them both, and then everything was wet and hot and perfect, and Harry knew in an instant that this was going to end embarrassingly quickly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not with the way Draco felt sliding against him, the way his fingers held Harry with just the right pressure, the way Draco’s eyes hovered above his, storm grey almost completely consumed by blown-out pupils. Blond hair slipped over Draco’s forehead as he leaned closer, closer, closer, touching his lips to Harry’s so lightly that they weren’t kissing so much as just breathing the same air.

Harry flicked his tongue across Draco’s lower lip. Draco shuddered and let out a tiny whimper, and it was that sound even more than the way he twisted his wrist just right that made Harry gasp and his vision blur with white heat as he spilled himself between them. Draco let out another tiny, almost broken, noise as he followed Harry over the edge.

For a moment there was almost complete silence, the only sounds that of their harsh breaths and pounding heartbeats. Harry’s mind was just as quiet, all thoughts obliterated by the force of his orgasm. But it didn’t take long for that voice in the back of his mind to start making itself heard again, and worry started to seep once more into his chest. But before Harry could work himself into a panic, Draco leaned down once more and kissed him.

The kiss was slow and sweet, the fire between them now dulled to a quiet ember, and Harry felt the panic recede as quickly as it had come. Because he knew for certain now, as Draco kissed him deeply and without urgency. It no longer mattered how it would end between them; Harry wasn’t going to be able to get off this ride until he was thrown off.

~~o~~

“I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Ron! Don’t say things like that!”

Hermione frowns as Ron leans over the table, bracing his arms against a chair back. Harry looks at him; his friend does look quite green, the sickly colour clashing quite horribly with his red hair.

“I don’t mean it like that, Hermione.” Ron waves at Hermione and shoots Harry an apologetic look. “I just really, really didn’t need that much, um, detail.”

Ginny laughs loudly and passes her brother a full tumbler of firewhisky. “Buck up, you big baby. That’s nothing compared to the office sex they get up to.”

Ron slumps into the chair and looks from Ginny to Harry in shock. “Office sex?” he repeats weakly, taking a huge gulp of his drink. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he looks at Harry pleadingly. “So, it wasn’t just a one-time thing?”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, Ron!” Hermione sits down next to Harry and puts her hand on his arm. It’s a show of support, and Harry is immensely grateful to have such a friend. He also wonders just what it was that he did in a past life to deserve Ron and Ginny Weasley as friends. Ginny is far too happy watching him get caught out by his best friend, and Ron looks as though he’s about ready to keel over at the discovery. Although to be fair, it could also be the amount of alcohol he’s just thrown down his throat.

Hermione glares at Ron. “Didn’t you listen to a word Harry said?”

Ron swallows. “I kind of started glazing over when he got to the part with the kissing, to be honest.” He stares at Harry. “But I thought it was just some adrenaline thing, you know? You got conked on the head, and Malfoy got all scared, and then, stuff happened.” He frowns. “Wait a minute. Maybe that’s what did it? You getting hit over the head with a load of rocks, making you go all weird for a bit?”

Ginny snorts, and Hermione rolls her eyes. “I don’t think that would explain all the other times after that, mate,” Harry replies drily.

“So, it really wasn’t just a one-time thing?” Ron asks morosely.

Harry winces in sympathy. “Sorry, Ron.”

Ron sighs and gestures at Ginny. “Top me up, Gin. No, wait.” He stops her in mid-lean across the table and grabs the entire bottle from her. “I need to get properly trolleyed if I have to listen to much more of this.”

~~o~~

“You know… you really… should… stop… running into danger… all the damn… time.”

Draco spoke between heated kisses as Harry walked him backwards into the wall of their office. Harry hummed but didn’t reply; he was too busy trying to pull Draco’s robes apart enough to get his hands in to feel skin.

“I’m serious, Harry. One of these days—oh God!”

Harry smirked and bit down on Draco’s collarbone as he slid his hand down further, gripping and pulling with just the amount of pressure he now knew drove Draco quickly to the edge no matter what they were doing.

“Although I do have to admit to liking how adrenaline seems to affect you.”

“Mmhmm.” Harry whispered a couple of spells and removed his hand from Draco’s trousers.

“No, no!” Draco complained, and Harry just had to bite down on his pouting lower lip. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere. You’re turning around.”

“Oh God, yes please.” Draco swiftly turned his back, pressing against the wall and pushing back into Harry. He moaned softly as Harry pulled his trousers down past his hips and used a spell-slicked finger to tease his entrance.

“Harry, Kingsley says he needs you to—fuck me!”

“Wait your turn, Goldstein,” Draco mumbled into the wall, and Harry stifled his laugh against Draco’s neck.

“Oh, Anthony, I did tell you they’d be busy.” Luna danced into the room to drop off some files on her desk. She waved at both Harry and Draco, smiling serenely, as though she often walked in on them in compromising situations. Which, to be fair, she had over the past few months.

“Well, how was I to know you were actually talking some bloody sense for once!” Anthony covered his entire face with a file folder and groaned. “Kingsley wants your report on his desk by the end of the day tomorrow, okay?” He peeked between his fingers and groaned again when he saw that neither Harry nor Draco had moved. “And for God’s sake, can you please do… that, somewhere else?”

“Well,” Harry said conversationally, because there was no way he could pretend they had been about to do anything else, so he might as well just go with it, “we did think about using one of the desks, but the wall was closer.”

Anthony let out another sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sob and flapped his file in their general direction. “That’s it, I need a drink. Possibly an entire case of whisky. You coming?”

“Not quite yet.”

Anthony somehow managed to scowl at Draco without looking directly at him. “I meant Luna, you prat!”

“Actually, I think I should be getting home. Ginny has an early practise tomorrow, so she’ll be wanting to go to bed early.” Luna blew them all a kiss and skipped out of the room. Anthony tripped over his feet rushing to follow her.

“Your place or mine?” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear.

“We’re not actually stopping, are we?”

“Nope. Just moving locations.” Harry nipped at Draco’s ear and closed his eyes, picturing his bedroom and Apparating them both there in an instant. Without the wall there to support him, Draco fell forward, dragging Harry with him.

“Lucky for you the bed was right here, really,” Draco remarked, his voice muffled by the pillow his face had landed in.

“I’d say it was lucky for the both of us,” Harry said, his fingers already moving back to where they had been before they’d been so rudely interrupted.

Draco moaned in agreement, arching his back. “Clothes. Off,” he panted, scrabbling over his shoulder to grab a fistful of Harry’s robes.

“Later.” Harry removed his fingers and reached down to free himself from the confines of his own trousers.

“Are all Gryffindors this impatient in bed?” Draco asked, and then keened as Harry slid inside him, dragging him closer by his hips. “I get to top next time, you’re such a brute.” He moaned again, hips twitching. “Harry, if you don’t fucking move right now I will hex you into next week.”

Harry chuckled. “Now who’s impatient?” But he did as asked, sliding out slowly before pushing back in, his eyes closing at the feel of Draco hot and tight around him.

“Hmm—what?” Draco moaned and sank forward onto his elbows, letting out a whine until Harry complied with his unspoken request and curled over him, chest pressing into his back. That was always the best part for Harry: when Draco got to the point where he was almost incoherent, communicating with only little noises and shifts of his body. It always amazed Harry that he could bring Draco to this point—the Slytherin Prince, always so good with words, reduced to nothing but whimpers and moans.

It never took either of them very long like this, when they were high on adrenaline from a good chase and just needed to fall into each other. Harry felt it coil low in his stomach, could tell from Draco’s breathing that he was close, too. He reached one hand down and curled his fingers around Draco, and with only three twists of his wrist, he felt Draco tightening around him as warmth spilled onto his fingers. Harry followed him over the edge and buried his nose in Draco’s hair as the blond curled into a slump beneath him.

They lay like that for a while, Harry willing his breathing to ease and his pulse to calm down, before Draco finally started making noises about Harry being too heavy. Harry slid to the side and watched as Draco propped himself up on his elbows, lower legs still dangling off the edge of the bed.

“So,” Draco finally said, reaching out a hand and brushing Harry’s hair back from his sweaty forehead. “Shower and then round two? If you think you’re up for it, that is.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I see your bet, and I raise you round two in the shower, followed by Chinese takeout and round three.”

Draco frowned in thought. “Round three after the Chinese, right?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “Unless you’re actually going to let me eat food in bed tonight.”

“Gross.”

Harry sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

Draco suddenly lunged forward and pulled Harry’s trousers down to his knees before jumping off the bed. “Last one in the shower bottoms for the rest of the night!”

“Hey!”

~~o~~

“Okay, okay, I get it, can we please stop talking about this now?”

Ginny pats Ron on his arm consolingly and slips the now half-empty bottle from his fingertips. “You know, if you weren’t so dense and actually looked at what’s going on around you occasionally, you wouldn’t be shocked like this quite so often.”

“We were actually talking about something else before we got side-tracked,” Hermione reminds them all, and then she fixes Harry with a stern look. “So, Harry. Could Draco have known about the problems with the anklet?”

Harry thinks about it and then shrugs. “I really don’t know. We’ve never talked about it, and he’s never said anything. Besides, isn’t the anklet kind of redundant if I can feel when he’s planning to go out of bounds?”

“Not if he’s managed to get around the linking spell it isn’t.”

“I don’t think the issue is the how, anyway, but more the why.” Ginny takes a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. “As in, why does Harry think that this is the crime that Malfoy has committed, out of all the ones they’ve worked on so far?”

Hermione nods. “That’s a good point, actually. I mean think about it: if Malfoy has managed to work out how to get around both the bond and the anklet, then he could have been responsible for a number of your cases. So why this one in particular?”

Harry sips at his own drink carefully before resting it back on the table. “Because he told me that he wanted to. And he told me how he’d do it.”

~~o~~

“Tell me why you decided to become a thief.”

Draco groaned and shoved lightly at Harry’s shoulder. “No, ‘m too tired to talk.”

“Oh come on, humour me.” Harry poked at Draco’s bare shoulder until he felt teeth digging into his collarbone.

“You are so infuriating, I have no idea why I like you,” Draco mumbled into his skin, soothing away the burn of both his teeth and his words with a swipe of his tongue.

“Because I broke you out of jail.”

“Only after you put me in there.” Draco’s hand started wandering down over Harry’s hip. “And as far as I remember, there was much less of the ‘breaking’ and far more of the ‘tedious paperwork’ involved in my so-called rescue.”

Harry wriggled away from Draco’s questing fingers with a panted gasp. They had already had sex twice during the day, once in the office with Harry bent over his desk and paperwork falling around their feet, and then again earlier in the evening, so slow and deep that Harry had come untouched for the first time in his life. He was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be able to perform again for the rest of the night, and he was damned sure he wouldn’t be able to take much more of where Draco’s fingers were obviously trying to go.

“I just don’t get it,” he said, grabbing Draco’s wrist and pulling it up to kiss the knuckles. He felt the pout against the skin of his neck and grinned. “Out of all the things you could have gone on to do after school, why art theft?”

“It was the easiest way to get your attention,” Draco said. Harry turned to look at him, and Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s really quite simple. I was always good at history, and I like pretty things.” He wriggled his fingers to remind Harry to keep playing with them. “I suppose I could have gone into the legitimate side of the business, but that just seemed so dull.”

Harry pinched the end of his forefinger hard and then went back to drawing circles on the inside of Draco’s wrist. “Okay, what was the best thing you ever stole?”

“What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?”

Harry shrugged. “You can ask me questions back if you want.”

“Don’t need to. I already know everything about you.”

“And I already told you, you don’t know anywhere near as much about me as you like to think.”

Draco lifted his head. “That sounds like a challenge, Potter.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Okay, how about this.” Draco propped himself up on one elbow to lean over Harry. “I tell you five things I know about you that nobody else knows, and if I’m wrong then I’ll answer any question you want to ask me.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “You really think you know five things about me that nobody else knows?”

“Oh, I know far more than that. I’m just tired and I really want to go to sleep sometime tonight.”

“Okay, deal.” Harry shifted onto his side so that they were facing each other.

Draco just lay there and watched him for a moment. “You want to be a father someday, but you worry that you’ll mess it up because you lost your parents so young.” Harry immediately looked down, but Draco pulled his gaze back up with his fingers under Harry’s chin. “I, however, know different. You’re bound to be a wonderful father, quite simply because you’re amazing at everything you do, insufferable git that you are.”

Harry snorted.

“You hardly ever slept with your curtains shut on your bed at school because you don’t like small spaces.”

Harry gaped. “How could you possibly know that?”

Draco just gave him an enigmatic smile. “You still don’t buy yourself more clothes than you absolutely need, and it has nothing to with not wanting to be frivolous or not caring about fashion, but because deep down you still don’t think you deserve them. Which is ridiculous, by the way, that arse of yours is made for jeans, and you should have a different pair for every day of the year.” His hand came down and slapped Harry’s arse cheek to punctuate his argument.

“That’s three,” Harry gasped as he tried to flinch away, but Draco only tightened his hold and held him still.

“You wonder if there will ever come a time when you can just walk down a wizarding street without everyone knowing your name. If you will ever get the chance to be normal, like everyone else.”

“How do you know all this?” Harry asked incredulously, but Draco didn’t reply, just continued on.”

“I think that even without the war, you would still be extraordinary. It’s just a part of who you are.”

Harry could feel his chest getting tight, and he wished that Draco would look at him instead of fixing his gaze over his shoulder, so he would be able to tell how much of what Draco was saying was real and how much was affected hyperbole. But Draco just kept swirling unknowable designs on Harry’s hip as he stared into the distance.

“One more,” Harry whispered.

“You’re afraid of the dark, because it makes you feel alone.”

Harry swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, because that was exactly how darkness made him feel. “That’s cheating,” he said when he could finally find his voice. “You’ve already told me that, back when I arrested you. My turn.”

“Ugh, fine.”

Draco groaned and rolled onto his back, resting his head on his arms. Harry rolled with him, his head on Draco’s shoulder. He let his hand skim down over the pale expanse of skin, his fingers automatically seeking out the barely visible silver scars that bisected Draco’s chest. Harry had kissed along every one, mouthing apologies into the skin even as Draco insisted that he didn’t mind, that he liked them, They remind me of you, Harry, oh god, do that again. These were the times when Harry could almost believe that this was going to last—that Draco might fall as deeply in love with Harry as he could feel himself falling for Draco, hidden in the bedroom Harry had secretly come to think of as theirs, with the moonlight chasing away the rest of the world and the fact that he was Harry, and Draco was Draco, and so this couldn’t possibly stay like this for long.

“The best thing you ever stole,” Harry repeated, murmuring the question into soft skin.

“Ulugh Beg’s Jade Cup,” Draco replied, speaking the words to the ceiling as he let his hand drop down onto Harry’s back, fingers idly stroking the dip of his spine. “But I’m not telling you where I stole it from, or where it is now, so you can forget it.”

“That’s fine. Just tell me why it was the best one. It doesn’t sound very appealing.”

“That’s just because you don’t know anything about it.”

“So tell me.”

Draco hummed, and the sound echoed in Harry’s ear where it was pressed against pale skin. “Ulugh Beg was the grandson of Timur, known in the West as Tamerlane, or 'Timur the Lame', due to a leg injury sustained in battle. Originally the ruler of a small Turkish tribe, Timur conquered the whole of Iran and Central Asia to create the Timurid Empire, until he died in 1405. At the time, jade was known for being able to detect poisons; the cup would crack if something was ever slipped into a drink. Not that it helped Ulugh Beg much, because his own son seized his empire from him after only two years in power and had him beheaded.”

Harry snorted. “Sounds lovely.”

“It is, actually. The handle is made in the shape of a dragon, because Ulugh Beg was enamoured with Chinese decoration.”

“Ah, now I get it. A dragon for Draco.”

“Don’t pretend to be clever. You’re neither clever nor good at pretending.” But Harry felt lips press lightly against his hair to soothe the sting of Draco’s words. “Actually, I liked it because of the charm placed upon it. It was very subtle, and it was placed there to detect poisons, although of course the muggles of the time merely assumed it was the jade that had the magical properties.” Draco’s hand slid up and down Harry’s back, and he could feel his eyes drifting closed at the sensation. “Any more questions?”

“Just one more,” Harry said around a yawn. “If you were still in the business, what is the one thing you’d want to steal the most?”

Draco was silent for so long that Harry started to wonder if he was either falling asleep or just refusing to answer. But just as he thought about raising his head to check, Draco spoke.

“The Gundestrup Cauldron,” he whispered finally.

Harry would have laughed if he hadn’t been so close to falling asleep. “Why do all of these things have terrible names?”

“Because you understand absolutely nothing about art, you heathen. It’s called that because it was found in a peat bog near the Gundestrup hamlet in Denmark, in 1891. It’s known for the debate over whether it is either Celtic or Thracian in origin, according to the muggles, although in the wizarding world we know the truth.”

“Do we now?” Harry muttered sleepily.

Draco pinched him in response. “Well, those of us who occasionally listened to Professor Binns do, anyway.”

“Nobody listened to Binns. Ever.”

“I’m almost certain Granger did.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, well. Hermione’s weird like that.”

“Anyway, the cauldron is made almost entirely of silver, and when they found it, it was in pieces. There is a base plate, and five inner plates, with a further seven smaller pieces that make up the outer layer.”

“Sounds a bit dangerous to have a cauldron made up of pieces,” Harry mumbled. “Wouldn’t any potion just leak through the gaps?”

“That’s because it’s not actually a cauldron, you imbecile. It’s actually one of the first pensieves ever made, which is why it’s so extraordinary. It’s also quite beautiful, depicting lots of different scenes with intricate detail.”

“What sort of scenes?”

Harry felt Draco shrug lightly beneath him. “All sorts. Human figures riding dolphins, warriors with spears and shields, all kinds of animals.”

“Sounds fascinating.” Harry tried to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, and was about seventy percent certain he managed it. “But why would you want this cauldron, over everything you can think of?”

Draco went quiet again for a few moments. “There is some contention,” he began quietly, “over how many plates there are supposed to be that make up the outer layer. There are currently seven, but some scholars believe there is a missing eighth piece.”

He fell silent again, and Harry connected the dots. “You already have the eighth piece, don’t you?” Draco didn’t answer, but Harry knew he was right. He decided not to push. “Tell me how you would steal it.”

“I’m not going to steal it.”

“I know that. I just mean, hypothetically, what would you do?”

Draco sighed. “It’s currently residing in a museum in Denmark, and it’s too big for me to be able to get it out of the country and back to England very easily. So I would wait until it was on loan to a British museum, and then break in and take it from there.” Harry thought about it. It sounded like an easily accomplished plan. “Can we please go to sleep now, Harry?”

Harry nodded sleepily and finally let his eyes close. One more question came to him before sleep could claim him, so he whispered it into Draco’s shoulder. “What scene is depicted on the eighth piece?”

But sleep pulled him under before he could find out if Draco was going to answer him, or if he’d even heard the question. But it didn’t much matter either way.

~~o~~

“Yeah, okay, that does sound pretty incriminating.” Ginny leans back in her seat once more, tapping her fingers on the table in thought.

“Wait.” Ron grabs Harry by the shoulder and shakes him a little. “Isn’t that exactly how it happened?”

Harry nods. Earlier today, his team had been contacted by the muggle liaison office with a report of the crime. Last week, the British Museum had been broken into and the Gundestrup Cauldron, on loan from the National Museum of Denmark, had been stolen. The muggle police were dumbfounded; there was no evidence to follow, not even any sign of a break in. It was as though the artefact had simply vanished into thin air.

“Then why the bloody hell are we still sitting here? And why isn’t Malfoy back in Azkaban already?”

“Ronald!” Hermione frowns, and Harry sees her gesticulating at him from the corner of his eye.

“It’s okay, Hermione,” he sighs. “Ron’s right, I should have said something to Anthony and Luna when the case first came in.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “It’s just…”

Hermione sits down next to him and places her hand on his arm. “You were hoping he really had stopped, weren’t you?”

“It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid, Harry. It’s natural to not want to believe anything bad about the person you have feelings for.”

“What are you talking about, Hermione?” Ron stares over Harry’s shoulder in confusion. “Who said anything about feelings? It was just sex! Right, Harry?”

“Oh for God’s sake, Ron, how can you be this thick?” Ginny snorts from across the table. “This is Harry we’re talking about. You remember, the one who didn’t want to have sex with me because he just wasn’t sure if he loved me enough for that big a step?”

Harry smiles weakly. “Sorry about that, Gin.”

Ginny grins back at him. “Hey, if it weren’t for you breaking my heart, I never would have gone to cry on Luna’s shoulder.” She shrugs. “Who knows, I might never have learned just how perfect her boobs are.”

“If we could get back to the subject at hand,” Hermione says disapprovingly over Ron’s groan of too much information, Gin! “The point, Ron, is that Harry just doesn’t do those kinds of relationships, which you would know if you ever paid attention to the people around you.”

“I pay attention!” Ron exclaims indignantly. “It’s just, well, it’s Malfoy, isn’t it? What is there to really like about the bloke?” He ignores Hermione’s sigh and leans closer to Harry. “Sorry, mate, I’m just trying to understand.”

Harry nods, and tries to think how to explain it. “He’s funny,” he says at last, and the others settle into their seats, possibly ready to listen to his explanation at last. “Like, really fucking hilarious, and not always in a mean way. And he can be kind sometimes.” Ron makes a disbelieving noise and Hermione shushes him. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m ever going to find him reading to sick kids in St Mungos. But he has, like, this small circle of people that he cares about, and he’s nice to them and looks out for them.”

“That’s true,” Ginny interjects. “He bought Luna that bunch of flowers last month, after she got caught by that hex. I thought it was really sweet.”

Harry carries on. “He has this weird thing for animals. He’s a bit like Hagrid the way he keeps picking up strays—there are three cats living in his flat now, and even though he complains about fleas and hair on his cushions he won’t kick them out.” He looks down at his hands. “And he can be gentle and sweet, and he understands things about me without me ever having to say them out loud.” He looks up at Ron. “Did you know I don’t like the dark?” Ron shakes his head, and both Hermione and Ginny frown. Harry looks back down at the table. “Draco does; he knew even before we started… whatever this is.”

He looks back up to find three identical faces looking at him in pity. “What?”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione pats his arm and smiles at him sadly.

Harry opens his mouth to ask what she means but is suddenly blindsided with a pulsing pain in his temple.

“Harry? Harry are you okay?”

The pain recedes and Harry blinks away the lingering pain and nods. “It’s, it’s Draco. He’s about to do something bad.” He pulls out his wand and whispers the spell for the Locator Anklet. He frowns. “He’s, he’s at my flat.”

“That’s out of bounds isn’t it?” Ron asks, looking worried.

“Yeah. He’s only allowed to travel between his flat and the Ministry without supervision.” Harry stands up. “I should go.”

Ginny lifts her hand to show him her protean-charmed ring. “Do you need me to call Luna to get her to come as back up?”

Harry shakes his head. “I can handle Malfoy.”

“But can you handle Draco?”

Ron frowns. “Hermione, that’s the same person.”

Harry grabs his cloak and opens the front door with a backward wave. He hears Hermione’s retort just before it closes behind him.

“I don’t think it is for Harry.”

~~o~~

His flat is dark and quiet when he enters through the front door. He turns on the hall light out of habit and then winces at his own stupidity. So much for the element of surprise. But then he hears a clinking sound coming from the living room, and he realises that Draco doesn’t seem to be hiding his presence either. He walks slowly to the doorway and peeks inside.

“Well, that didn’t take too long.”

Draco smiles over at him from where he is standing in front of the coffee table. Harry swallows, trying to push back memories of evenings spent curled up on the sofa with Draco, arguing happily over some stupid thing or another. He’d always known it would end badly, but somehow the scenario of having to arrest Draco all over again hadn’t ever entered his mind. Now, he realises what a stupid oversight that was.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, then curses himself for such a stupid question.

“Waiting for you. I have something to show you.”

He steps aside, and Harry feels his stomach threaten to turn over. It’s one thing to talk to his friends about the possibility of Draco stealing again, but it’s quite another to come home to find the Gundestrup Cauldron sitting on his coffee table. Harry swallows again, hard.

“So, you did steal it.”

Instead of reacting with guilt as Harry—stupidly, he belatedly realises—assumed he would, Draco’s face lights up with a smile. “No. Well, yes, sort of, but really I’m just borrowing it for a few days."

“Borrowing it,” Harry echoes faintly. He thinks he might need to sit down sooner rather than later. Distantly, he regrets drinking so much firewhisky at dinner.

“Yes,” Draco nods, putting his hand in the pocket of his robes. He pulls out a carefully wrapped package and starts to peel off the cloth layers. “It took me a few days to work out how to get around our little bonding spell, and then a few days more until I could sneak away to the Manor.” He finishes unwrapping the package and frowns over at Harry. “Does the Auror department know that you can get around the anklet with nothing more than a Confundus charm?”

Harry stares at him, but Draco just shrugs.

“Anyway, now I finally have them both together I can show you.”

He leans over the Cauldron and starts moving the outer pieces, creating a gap big enough to slide in the piece he had taken from his pocket. And Harry suddenly realises that Hermione was right. Harry can handle Malfoy, but this person standing in front of him, with a quiet smile lighting up his features, this is Draco, and Harry can’t bring himself to arrest him.

“Go now,” he blurts out.

Draco looks up at him and frowns. “What?”

Harry takes a step further into the room. “Run, now. I’ll tell them you left it on my doorstep or something. I can’t guarantee we won’t come looking for you, but I can stall them for a while.

Draco stares at him. “Wait. You think I stole this for myself?”

Harry groans, because if he’s really going to do this, going to help Draco escape going back to Azkaban, then he’s going to need Draco to cooperate with him here. “You just told me you did! So you have to leave, now, because otherwise I’m going to have to arrest you for this!”

Draco stands up straight. “No,” he says quietly.

“Draco,” Harry moans, because he’s really not sure he’s going to be able to survive this.

Draco holds his wrists out in front of him. “If arresting me for borrowing it is something you have to do, then go ahead. But I’m not leaving until you’ve seen what I came here to show you.”

Harry stares at him incredulously. “You do know that borrowing without asking is the same thing as stealing, right?”

“Semantics.” Draco waves a hand airily. “Now come over here and look, will you?”

Harry sighs and steps closer. The cauldron really is a beautiful piece of art: every plate shines, the embossed scenes on each one intricately designed. Draco leans closer and gently rubs one finger over the bottom left corner of the plate facing them. Harry looks and sees two little figurines, set apart from the tableau depicted on the rest of the silver. A small lion, and a tiny snake, staring at each other.

Draco spins the cauldron to show the next plate, and the next, and on each one the lion and the snake slowly move closer to each other, always apart from the rest of the designs, oblivious to what is going on in the scenes above them. And then Draco spins it to show the eighth piece, the supposedly missing piece that Draco had pulled from his pocket just minutes before. On this last plate, the lion and the snake have both disappeared, but in their place are a stag and a dragon. The figurines are bigger, the only designs on the shiny silver, taking up the whole of the plate as they stare at each other.

It’s beautiful. It makes Harry wonder just how long Draco has held on to this extra piece, if he realised the significance of the stag and the dragon. Significant to them, at least.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” Draco nods, and Harry sighs. “So let me get this straight. You worked out a way to get around the linking spell and the anklet, ‘borrowed’ this from the British Museum, and then brought it here to my flat. All just to show me the eighth piece you’ve had in your possession all along?”

“Well, no, not just that.” Draco stands up straight. “I also wanted to show you that I could steal it, if I wanted to, so you know that I’m not just stopping because I don’t have a choice.”

“So, you stole it to prove that you’re not going to steal it?” Harry rubs his temples. “That makes absolutely no sense!”

Draco frowns, that little line between his eyebrows suddenly forming. “I suppose I thought it was the easiest way to get your attention.”

Harry opens his mouth to retort that at least that part worked, because he certainly has Harry’s attention, but nothing comes out, and he freezes in place.

Oh. Oh.

Out of all the things you could have gone on to do after school, why art thief?

It was the easiest way to get your attention.

It had been there all along, and Harry had been so busy thinking about himself that he never saw it. All that time that Harry had spent trying to pull himself back from the edge, and he hadn’t noticed that Draco was already there, trying to get his attention, waiting for him.

You were waiting for me?

I’m always waiting for you, it seems.

Harry steps closer to Draco and puts his hands on Draco’s hips, pulling him in. He presses his nose into the skin of Draco’s neck, the scent of apples and mint and perfect making him feel like he’s just come home, and leans up to whisper in his ear.

“I know something about me you don’t know.”

Draco snorts delicately. “I doubt that.”

Harry pulls back to look into those storm grey eyes. “I’m in love with you.”

Draco smiles, and it’s the most beautiful thing Harry has ever seen. “Finally. I’ve been waiting for you to realise it.”

“Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s okay. You never were very bright.”

And this time, when Draco reaches for him and kisses him slow and deep and sweet, Harry’s not afraid.

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