Work Text:
The Aurors were slowly trickling out through the doors, off home to their loved ones, or perhaps intending to make a stop off at the Leaky to celebrate a job well done. Harry was still too wired, adrenaline still rushing through his veins from the chase that had lasted for hours and had finished with a group of six very dangerous people now sitting in their holding cells a floor below, waiting for their interviews to start in the morning. Harry should really go home and get some well earned rest, he knew, because he and his partner had been the lead on the case, and they would be expected to be in those interview rooms tomorrow, making sure they got all the evidence needed to put the creature smugglers away for a very long time. But Harry still felt jittery, his vision still swirling from all those jumps, following the apparition trail from place to place until he thought he was going to either faint or puke. His senses were still hyper alert from the spell fight at the end of their journey, popping into existence only to have to duck a volley of lethal spells thrown their way as their quarry realised they would have to try and fight their way out. His heart had been in his throat, worry not for himself but for his partner, who had been travelling a second behind him, arriving quickly enough to maybe be in the path of the spells that Harry had only just been able to evade. The rest of their eight man team had been left behind, waiting for Harry to give them the signal to move in on his position, so for a wild moment they had been alone, fighting against six men who had no intention of surrendering quietly. The end had been quite abrupt, with Harry throwing out an extendable incarcerous, followed up with a half dozen stunners sent in quick succession, and then the men had been laid out at their feet. All that had been left to do was call in the rest and transport the prisoners to the Ministry for the night.
“You did well tonight, boys,” came a voice from behind their cubicle, and Harry jumped, only just managing to repress the desire to pull his wand in defence. Dawlish, their boss, grinned down over the partition at them both. “Go on home, relax now, you deserve it.”
Harry looked around the rest of the room and realised that Dawlish was the last Auror left. “We will sir, thank you.”
“I’ll see you boys in the morning.” With a nod, Dawlish donned his cloak and swept out of the room.
Harry stayed where he was, standing stock still with his hip against their desk, and let the quiet of the room steal over him. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, and he thought he might explode if he didn’t do something to expel the excess energy right this very minute.
He felt movement behind him moments before strong arms slid around his waist, and Harry closed his eyes on a sigh of relief. He kind of loved that his partner always seemed to be on the same wavelength as him, always seemed to know just what he needed.
“You should have waited for me to catch up,” Malfoy whispered hotly into Harry’s ear, grip tightening on his waist and pulling him roughly around to look at him. His grey eyes were stormy dark, his cheeks tinged fevered red, his hands hot and possessive where they rested over Harry’s t shirt. He was everything Harry needed.
“You should have been quicker,” Harry replied, smile pulling at his lips as he watched the effect his words had on Malfoy. His breath caught in his throat as those grey eyes snapped away from his mouth and locked onto his own, dark and glittering and holding a promise.
Malfoy growled and dove forward, catching Harry’s lips in a searing kiss, hot breath and sharp teeth demanding tongue, and Harry melted into it, gave up the last shred of control and let the wild adrenaline surge out of him and into Malfoy’s mouth. He pushed his hips up to meet Malfoy’s, moaning gratefully into the kiss at the feel of the hardness waiting for him there. Malfoy’s hands slid down from his waist to his jeans, pulling his fly open and cupping Harry’s cock, giving him a hard squeeze, because he knew what Harry wanted and he knew that Harry was just waiting for Malfoy to give it to him.
As quick as he was pounced on, Harry was turned around and braced against the desk, fingers digging into his hips as his jeans and pants were pulled down to mid-thigh, both of them too desperate to undress any further. Malfoy whispered two spells in quick succession, and then Harry was breached with two long nimble fingers. Harry groaned and fell forward over the desk, his elbow knocking his coffee mug to the floor. Cold coffee splashed his exposed thigh as it fell but he didn’t care, too busy pushing back onto the three fingers that were now forcing him open, getting him ready with a minimum of fuss. Now wasn’t the time for finesse or slow preparation; it wouldn’t be enough until Malfoy was inside him, hot and hard and fucking the adrenaline right out of him. There was never any time for finesse between the two of them.
Another quiet spell whispered, and the fingers were withdrawn, replaced seconds later with the thick hot head of Malfoy’s cock. The desk rocked beneath him as Malfoy pushed in, thighs trembling against Harry’s as he pulled out and immediately sank back in, wasting no time as he built up a rhythm, and Harry sank into it gratefully.
Another knock against the table, an arm shooting out for balance, and a bunch of papers and files fluttered resignedly to the floor. From Harry’s position, he could see where the quill holder had been knocked over, spilling nibs and feathers across the staid brown carpet of the Auror’s offices. His hips banged painfully against the edge of the desk on the next thrust, and Harry watched as the ink pot toppled over the edge to spread violet ink across the pages of their latest case.
“You know,” Harry said, biting his lip as a wave of white hot pleasure cancelled out the pain in his hips, “We should consider doing it in a bed sometime.”
Behind him, Malfoy grunted, hand sliding from the small of Harry’s back and around to loosely cup his neglected cock. Harry slapped a hand down and gripped the edge of the desk, gritting his teeth against the orgasm threatening to overtake him.
“Shut up, Potter.”
Harry opened his mouth, but then Malfoy twisted his hips just as he put gentle pressure on Harry’s cock for one strong upstroke, and all that came out was a moan as Harry painted the edge of the desk in milky white strands. Another half dozen thrusts, and Malfoy was groaning his completion into the back of Harry’s neck, his breath warming his skin and his come warming Harry from the inside.
A few moments later, Malfoy slipped out of him and collapsed back into his chair, leaving Harry panting into the wood of the desk he had been unceremoniously thrown over.
“I’m serious,” Harry said, when he could finally catch his breath. He turned around and sat on the edge of the desk, righting his clothing. He looked down at the mess they had created, everything shoved from the desk to litter the floor and now crumpled and ink stained. “At least there’d be less cleaning up to do after.”
Malfoy snorted, his trousers and robes already smoothly back in place, and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Making a mess is half the fun, Potter.”
“Hmm.”
Harry bent down, pulling out his wand and using it to scrub the edge of the desk clean. It wouldn’t do to have the cleaning staff find the evidence of his and Malfoy’s moment of blowing off steam. He began picking up the papers and putting them into some semblance of order, siphoning off the spilled ink as best he could. Then he realised Malfoy had stood up behind him.
“You’re not going to help me clear all this up?” He asked, looking up at Malfoy in surprise.
“Can’t,” Malfoy replied, not looking at him. He pulled on his coat and began wrapping his scarf around his pale neck. “I’m meeting someone for after work drinks.”
His tone of voice suggested there was more to that statement, and Harry frowned. “You’re... going on a... date?”
Malfoy stopped fussing with the buttons on his coat and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
Harry gaped at him. “I just... I mean... now? After we’ve just... you know?”
“And what does that have to do with anything, Potter?” Malfoy’s eyebrow took on a scathing tone. Then he laughed, a little meanly. “You and I occasionally working off our adrenaline you knowing doesn’t mean anything, Potter.” He slung his bag over his shoulder and looked down haughtily at Harry. “This just makes our working relationship a little easier to swallow, that’s all. I don’t like you, any more than I ever did, and certainly not enough for anything involving a bed.
And with one last scathing eyebrow, he walked away, out of the office and off to his date.
Harry stared at the softly closing door, and then sighed and slumped down onto the floor. He’d been stupid, he realised that now. He had thought that training together for three years, becoming Auror partners and working together every day, had brought them closer. It had certainly seemed that way the first time this had happened, coming back from a mission that had almost gone incredibly wrong, Malfoy seeking him out in the bathroom, grabbing Harry and shoving him into one of the stalls, thrusting his tongue so deep into Harry’s mouth that he could taste the fear, the worry, the exhilaration. It had seemed that way too, when it had moved on from jerking each other off in a cramped bathroom stall to having sex in their office chairs or, like tonight, with Harry bent over their shared desk, Malfoy’s teeth leaving an indent in the skin of Harry’s neck.
Harry sighed and lifted a hand to rub at the tender mark. It wasn’t something they’d ever talked about, but Harry had assumed that it at least meant something. He waved his wand and gathered the rest of the spilled papers into a loose pile and stood up.
Obviously he’d been very, very wrong.
The warehouse was uncomfortably hot, and Harry could feel his trousers sticking to his thighs where he was crouched behind a pile of stacking crates. The fumes from the gently bubbling cauldrons made his nose itch, and the heat made his face sweaty, his glasses slipping down his nose every few minutes. Even though he couldn’t see through the disillusionment charm, he could feel Malfoy’s breath, ghosting over the back of his neck, and the reminder made his throat tighten. He’d made up his mind to not let anything happen between them again after that last night. He had been ignoring the way Malfoy would raise a suggestive eyebrow at him the moment the rest of the offices cleared out for the night, and he made sure to not find himself alone in the bathrooms. It was for his own good, because it felt wrong to him to continue having sex with Malfoy now that he knew just how little it meant to his partner. But it was easy to forget all of that, easy to forget how much it hurt to go home alone after watching Malfoy walk out to go on a date immediately after shagging Harry into a blissful near coma, when he could feel the warmth of Malfoy pressed all along his back, feel his breath sliding over his skin at just the spot where he knew Malfoy liked to bite down and leave his mark, smell the intoxicating scent of him, a heady mix of jasmine and leather. It made him want to turn and press his lips to the place where he knew Mafoy’s neck was hidden beneath his charm, but he couldn’t, couldn’t take his eyes from the scene before them. They had to watch everything carefully so that they could hand in their memories for the pensieve when it came time for a trial, and Harry was certain he was going to have to view it for himself by the time the day was over, because he couldn’t concentrate on anything in front of him with Malfoy pressed so close against him in their shared hiding space.
Harry was so busy concentrating on everything Malfoy that he heard his sharp intake of breath before he saw that the doors to the warehouse had been opened. This is what they had been waiting for, and Harry could feel the excitement trickling in his veins, the exhilaration at the mission finally starting, now that the buyer had arrived. He could feel similar feeling emanating from the place where Malfoy stood, both of them ready to finally bring an end to this case. They had been tracking these illegal potions for months now, always a step behind the perpetrators, finding their base of operations sometimes only days after they’d cleared out and moved on to somewhere new. Harry was beginning to think they had a mole in the department, so when he’d worked out the address for this warehouse, he’d told only Malfoy, who had agreed that they should leave straight away.
And it seemed as though their caution had paid off, because now here they were, finally able to put a face to the person responsible for putting these dangerous potions out on the street.
Harry squinted his eyes, but the wizard kept his hood up, pulled low over his brow as he bent to inspect the potions. But Harry didn’t need to see his face just yet; all they had to do was witness the exchange of money, and then he and Malfoy could arrest the lot of them. Finding out who they were could happen afterwards.
The man in the hood stood up straight, nodded once, and a coin pouch appeared in his outstretched hand. Behind him, Harry felt the slight displacement as Malfoy removed his disillusionment charm, and Harry let his own slide away as they both stood up to confront the criminals.
Surprised and confused shouts echoed off the high walls of the warehouse, and the air became lit with bright colours as spells were thrown and clashed together. Harry ran forward, knowing instinctively that Malfoy would be watching his back, making sure that their targets couldn’t escape. He threw an incarcerous at the main potioneer, ducking a stunning spell thrown at him by one of the lackeys. He skidded across the floor and was just about to bind the man in the hood when he was hit in the side with a spell that made his robes start to char and smoke. Harry stumbled sideways with the impact, right into the path of a spell sent by the hooded figure that tilted the earth beneath him, and he lost his footing. His head connected painfully against the side of one of the heavy cauldrons, and his vision blurred. He hit the ground and the cauldrons to either side of him came down with him, covering him with their hot and sticky contents.
The last thing Harry knew before he succumbed to the darkness was the sound of Malfoy screaming his name. Which was strange, because he’d never heard Malfoy call him Harry before.
The smell of lemons was the first thing Harry noticed as he began to wake up. He grimaced at the harsh tingling in his nose and reached up a hand to rub at it. The second thing he noticed was that he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but that quickly became a non issue when he felt something thump against his chest, and he blinked his eyes open to a head of bushy hair.
“Er, Hermione?”
The hair let out a strangled sob and then a hand slapped down on his chest in reprimand. “Harry Potter, I swear to Merlin, if I have to come and visit you in hospital one more time...
“You’ll hit me again?” Harry laughed through the frustrated noise and the next slap to hit his chest, and he let his hand fall gently onto his best friend’s crazy hair. “I’m fine, ‘Mione, really.”
Hermione sniffed and sat back in her seat, giving Harry a fuzzy view of the ceiling of St Mungo’s. He and the ceiling had become rather close acquaintances in recent years, ever since he began Auror training. Really, Harry thought, Hermione should be used to this by now. Actually, thinking of people used to Harry’s bad luck...
“Is Malfoy all right?”
He heard the quiet tch! of Hermione clucking her tongue as he cast about for his glasses. Squinting off to the side, he saw them on the table, and he reached out and plonked them back on his face. Ah, that was better; now he could properly see the annoyed look on his friend’s face.
“Of course he is, no doubt he was cowering behind you the entire time.” Hermione clenched her jaw tight, eyes flickering over to the hallway door.
Harry sighed. “Hermione, we’ve talked about this. Malfoy’s my partner, I trust him.”
“And yet you’re the one who somehow always ends up in here, while he slithers away unharmed.”
“He’s just better at defensive magic than I am, that’s all.”
Harry stopped himself from going further. He could recite this argument verbatim by now; they seemed to have had it at least once a week ever since he’d been partnered with Malfoy. Harry would point out that Malfoy was better at defensive magic, and Hermione would berate him for leaving that side of the job to his partner. Harry would tell her that he’s never been all that good at that side of things, and Hermione would tell him that it was about time he learned. ”He’s a Malfoy, Harry, and as much as he claims to have turned over a new leaf since the war, he’ll always look after himself first, so you need to learn to do the same. Either that or find a new partner.” Harry would then point out that Malfoy must have done something right and got them both out of trouble, otherwise they likely wouldn’t be able to have this conversation at all, because Harry would either be kidnapped, more severely injured, or dead.
“Where’s Ron?” Harry asked instead, hoping this time that they could avoid the whole argument. Because the fact was, he did trust Malfoy, at least when it came to them both doing their job, even now that it looked like a professional relationship would be all they would ever have. He just couldn’t seem to explain it well enough to his friends.
“Malfoy gave him the run down of the operation at the warehouse where you were hurt,” Hermione replied, her eyes narrowed as though she knew exactly what Harry was doing and was only going along with it for now. “He and Theo have gone to debrief some other teams, before they go in with a heavier force.” She looked him up and down critically. “Obviously more than just two Aurors were needed on this job, since you ended up in here. Again.” She stressed the last word meaningfully, and Harry restrained himself from rolling his eyes.
“Do you know what I was doused with, by the way?” Harry sat up, patting himself down thoughtfully. “Because I feel absolutely fine now.”
“No. I was going to ask you that, actually.” Hermione sat forward on her chair; she loved a good mystery needing to be solved. “Malfoy said that two different potions spilled over you at the same time, but that he couldn’t be sure what they were.”
“I wasn’t really concentrating, to be honest,” Harry admitted sheepishly. He never did, because that’s what he had Malfoy for. This is what Hermione never seemed to understand, no matter how many different ways Harry tried to explain it to her. Malfoy was always the more cautious, always scoping out their surroundings, looking and listening rather than judging and acting. That part was left to Harry, who was more than willing to jump in with both feet and do what needed to be done, and if he sometimes jumped a little too quickly then Malfoy was there to make sure it was never too serious, because he was always calculating their opponents’ moves, always formulating a new escape plan. It was a strategy that worked well for them both, and had given them the highest case success rate in the whole department since they had completed their training six months ago.
And if it meant that Harry had become more familiar with the ceilings and halls of St Mungo’s than was possibly healthy, well, it’s not as though life had always been easy for him, was it?
“Hmm.” Hermione sunk her hand into her robes and pulled out a notepad. “Malfoy said that one of the potions that covered you was yellow in colour, which means it affects the mind, but the Healers have cleared you for that. There was also a purple colour, which affects the way you see things.” She looked up at Harry. “What do you see?”
“A hospital room and a bossy best friend.”
“Very funny, Harry.”
Rriiinngggg!
“What was that?” Harry turned his head to the side, looking around the rest of the room.
“What was what? Harry, did you see something?”
Harry turned back, wincing internally at the suspicious look on Hermione’s face. He’d probably just heard a medical alarm going off in a room down the hall; the strange ringing noise had been faint. But if he told Hermione anything, she was sure to try and keep him here for more tests. He quickly rearranged his face as innocently as he could manage.
“No, I was wondering what you had written down there.” He nodded at the notebook in her hand. “Did Malfoy mention anything else?”
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, and Harry tried to look politely interested. Eventually, she sighed. “He said he didn’t think you had ingested any of it, but couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.”
“And what do the Healers think?”
“That you got knocked out when you fell and would be fine once you woke up,” Hermione said, and Harry could hear the scandal over the lack of intrigue in her voice.
“Well, I feel fine, so obviously they were right, yeah?” Harry slid out from the bed and hunted for his shoes, pulled his left one out from under the bed and hopped up and down as he pulled it on. “Now come on, I want be at the office for when the rest get back from the warehouse.”
The Auror department was quieter than usual, at least half a dozen Aurors having apparently gone off with Ron and Theo on their raid of the warehouse. Harry was sceptical that they would get there in time; after his and Malfoy’s botched attempt to bring the illegal potions sellers in, only the most stupid of criminals would hang around the same place, just waiting to get nabbed. The best that they could hope for was that they’d been in too much of a hurry to escape and had left some evidence behind.
He spotted Malfoy’s pale blond head over the dividing wall of the small cubicle they shared together and made his way towards it, waving a hand at the few Aurors he passed on his way, their good natured ribbing over being put in hospital yet again making him grin. Malfoy stiffened as he reached the cubicle, but he didn’t look up from the case notes he was writing.
“I’d have thought you’d be out on the raid with the others,” Harry said by way of greeting, shoving a stack of files off his chair and plopping down with a sigh.
“Protocol, Potter,” Malfoy replied, his hand never slowing in its graceful movements across the page. “When one partner is down, the other is officially grounded to his desk.”
“Oh yeah.” Harry winced. “Sorry about that.”
Malfoy shrugged. “It’s alright. I needed to catch up on these notes anyway.”
“So, you’re not mad?” Harry asked hopefully. It wouldn’t be the first time Malfoy had gotten pissed off with Harry for getting into trouble and yelled at him for making Malfoy look like a bad partner.
“No, why would I be?”
Rriiinngggg!
Harry whipped his head to the side.
“I mean,” Malfoy carried on, still not looking up from his desk, as Harry searched the room for the source of the noise, “I used to think you were purposely trying to make me look bad so that you could put in for a partner transfer, but I realised some time ago that it’s just a manifestation of your self-sacrificing idiocy.”
“Right,” Harry said, a little distracted. But the ringing had stopped, and he had no idea where it had come from. He turned back to Malfoy and found himself caught in his stormy grey gaze.
“So I’ve decided,” Malfoy said, dropping his quill on the desk and leaning back in his chair, staring intently at Harry. “You want to run around putting yourself in danger?” He spread his hands out and shrugged. “I don’t care.”
Rriiinngggg!
“In fact, it just makes it slightly less dangerous for the rest of us, so how could I possibly be mad at that?”
Rriiinngggg!
“Okay, seriously, what is that?” Harry stood up and turned in a circle, hoping to hear the faint noise again. He checked his robes, sliding his hands into his pockets and along the fabric, checking for something that might have been put there at the hospital. But there was nothing.
“What is what?” Malfoy frowned at him, his eyes following the movements of Harry’s hands. “Are you sure St Mungo’s let you go?”
“Of course they did,” Harry muttered, getting down on his hands and knees to check under the desk. Nothing, except for Malfoy’s rather stunning dragonhide boots.
“Potter, what are you doing down there?”
Harry flushed, remembering the last time he had been on his hands and knees in this room and pulled himself up, nearly braining himself for the second time that day on the underside of the desk. “You didn’t hear that?” Harry flicked through the files on the desk, looking everywhere except Malfoy as he furiously willed the heat in his cheeks to go down.
“Hear what?”
“That ringing noise.” Harry sat in his chair and pulled his trainers off, upending them and smacking the soles. “I heard it in the hospital, and then again just now. I have no idea what it is.”
“Probably tinnitus. You did hit your head rather hard when you fell earlier.”
Harry shook his head, pulling his trainers back on and standing up. “No, it’s not that kind of...”
He trailed off and stood still, hoping to hear the noise again, but a moment later the department doors crashed open and the Aurors from the raid poured in, all talking loudly over each other.
Harry sighed. Whatever the noise was, he wasn’t likely to hear it again now. He shook his head and went to join Ron and Theo for the debrief, grateful to get away from Malfoy and the intent looks he could feel washing over him.
The Leaky was as crowded as it usually was on a Friday night. Harry found himself squashed in a booth with Ron, Hermione, Seamus and Dean, and a few other Aurors who had decided to drink away their disappointment over losing the illegal potions sellers once again. Harry sipped at his lager, idly watching the new barman stride up and down behind the counter, flashing a smile with every order he completed. It really was a nice smile, Harry mused.
“You should ask him out,” Ron whispered suddenly in his ear.
Harry jumped, flushing at the realisation that he’d been caught out.
Ron grinned and nudged him with his elbow, making his drink slop over the rim of the glass and onto his fingers. “I saw you looking, go on, ask him out!”
Harry shook his head. “I wasn’t...” He cut himself off with a sigh. He couldn’t deny that he had been looking, but it hadn’t been because he was thinking about asking the guy out. But Harry couldn’t exactly tell Ron that he wasn’t ready to move on from someone that his friends had no idea he’d even being seeing in the first place. Especially as it had turned out that what he and Malfoy had been doing together hadn’t been anything like a relationship at all. “He wouldn’t be interested,” he said finally, more than a little lamely.
“Ahh, but you don’t know what else I saw,” Ron said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Like for example, he checking your arse out the last time you went up to order.” He leaned back and addressed the rest of their table. “Who’s up for another round? Harry’s buying!”
A cheer went up around the table, and Harry resigned himself to having to push through the crowd at the bar. He listened with half an ear to the half dozen different orders being shouted at him and stood up, one eye on the bartender. He was tall and lean, skin pale enough to show the veins in his arms as he stretched over the bar, handing out drinks and taking orders. He seemed to favour his left ear for listening, turning to the right as his customers spoke loudly to him over the noise of the crowd, his head facing the direction of Harry’s table. His eyes seemed to light up as they fell on Harry walking towards him, and his smile, ever present on his face, seemed to brighten slightly. He slid his hand through his dark hair as Harry made it finally to the bar, and he leaned over, fingertips of his right hand coming out to rest lightly on Harry’s arm.
“Another round for you table?” He asked, his voice hinting at a slight Australian accent. “Or can I interest you in something else?”
Harry opened his mouth, intending to just ask for another round, but something stopped him. Why not flirt with the guy, Harry found himself suddenly thinking. It wasn’t like it had to go anywhere, and he seemed like a nice enough guy, happy and smiley and definitely attractive. Maybe he would be just what Harry needed to help himself move on from the something that had turned out to be nothing after all.
Harry smiled and leaned against his side of the bar. “That depends. What something else are you offering?”
The man laughed and held his hand out. “I’m Sam,” he said, fingers sliding over Harry’s wrist as they shook hands.
“Harry.”
Sam’s eyes flickered up to Harry’s forehead and then back down. “Yeah, I figured.”
Harry slid his hand out of Sam’s grip and crossed his arms on the bar. “So, Sam. Something else?”
Sam flicked his gaze to his left before copying Harry’s stance against the counter. The hairs on their forearms touched, sending a shiver down Harry’s back. “You seeing anybody at the moment, Harry?”
“Why do you ask? Does my answer change the something else you’re offering?”
“Well.” Sam spread his hands out in a lazy shrug, casually ignoring the clamouring around him for more orders. “If you were, I’d offer you a chance to try one of my amazing and original cocktails.”
Harry felt the alcohol catching up to him, and he felt relaxed enough to lean even closer. “And if I wasn’t?”
Sam’s smile took on a sly tilt and he bent down, his lips close to Harry’s ear. “Then I’d ask if you fancied spending some time with me once my shift here is over.”
His breath was warm where it slid over Harry’s neck, and he shivered again, only this time for a different reason. His smile became a bit tight, and he instinctively pulled back slightly. Not wanting to ruin the good feeling completely, he said, “How about another round for my table of friends, and I’ll let you know?”
Sam seemed to realise that he was being subtly let down, and his smile dimmed slightly. “Sure, no worries.” He flicked his wand and the glasses began filling themselves, and he accepted Harry’s money with a wink. “Let me know if you change your mind, yeah? You know where I’ll be.”
Harry nodded and directed the drinks over to his table, turning away with a shy smile. It had felt good to flirt, right up until the moment when he had been reminded that Sam wasn’t Malfoy. Harry sighed as he wended his way back to their table, drinks floating in front of him. Small steps, he thought to himself. There had to come a point when Malfoy wouldn’t even enter his thoughts while talking to an attractive guy, all he had to do was keep trying. He’ll get there eventually.
It was only as he was sitting back down with his drink in hand that he noticed a blond head of hair pushing its way towards the exit. Malfoy turned slightly as he pushed the door open, and Harry could see his face held a tiny frown. He disappeared into the night outside the pub, and Harry was drawn into a conversation about Quidditch, and he forced himself to forget all about it.
“You could sleep here for the night,” Hermione said, stumbling through the doorway, Ron’s arm around her waist. It looked like he was trying to offer her support, but Harry could tell that it was Ron who needed the help to walk in a straight line.
“So you can keep an eye on me?” Harry hid a smile as Ron pulled a face. “I think I’ll be fine on my own, Hermione.”
Hermione sighed. “Fine, don’t listen to me.” She pulled off her cloak and hung it up on a peg, wobbling through into the living room of their flat. “Oh, that reminds me, Ron, did you tell your mum we’re not going to be doing the whole family dinners every Saturday night anymore?”
Ron looked up, eyes wide. He tripped into the living room and sat down heavily on the sofa. “Er, yeah, I did, yeah.” He waved his hand around airily. “She said it was fine.”
Rriiinngggg!
“She did? Really? Oh, that’s wonderful!” Hermione beamed over at him, while Harry looked around in frustration. “You know it’s not that I don’t love your family, Ron, because I do. I would just really like to be able to relax in my own house after a long week at work.”
“Yeah,” said Ron, looking a bit pale. “That’s what I said to mum, too.”
Rriiinngggg!
“So she understood?”
“Yeah, absolutely.”
Rriiinngggg!
“Harry, what on earth are you doing?”
Harry poked his head out from under the coffee table, where he had been searching for the source of the faint ringing. “Er, nothing. Just er, tying my shoe.” Whatever it was that he could hear, the others obviously couldn’t, and he didn’t want to give Hermione one more thing for her to fuss over him about.
Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but thankfully decided not to push it. She turned to her fiance. “Thanks for doing that for me, Ron. I know you were worried about your mum’s reaction.” She kissed him on the cheek and then turned to Harry, doing the same to him. “Night, Harry.”
“Yeah, night.” Harry watched as she walked out into the hallway and down into the bedroom.
Ron waited until she was gone and then slowly put his head in his hands. “Mum is gonna kill me,” he groaned into his sleeves.
“I thought you said she understood?” Harry asked him, confused.
“I may have made that all up,” Ron said, and Harry could see the side of his face turning red.
“You mean you just lied to Hermione?” Harry bit his lip; he did not want to be Ron when Hermione found out.
Ron sighed and sat up. “It’s just, she’s been going on at me for weeks to talk to mum, but I can’t because I know she’s only going to get angry and upset, but if I tell Hermione that I didn’t talk to her again, I’m gonna get another lecture on how we’re grown ups now and we shouldn’t let my mum run our lives.” He ran out of breath and stopped, pushing a shaky hand through his red hair.
“Well you’ve got two choices now, mate,” Harry said, walking over to the fireplace and grabbing a handful of Floo powder. “Either you talk to your mum, or you tell Hermione you lied to her.” He grinned unsympathetically at Ron. “Whichever one you choose, tell me first, yeah? So that I can be as far away from the fireworks as possible.”
“I don’t know why we’re friends,” Ron muttered.
Rriiinngggg!
Harry grit his teeth and waved goodnight to his friend, Flooing back to his own flat for the night. Whatever that annoying bloody noise was, he hoped it had buggered off by morning.
Harry spent the weekend by himself, cleaning his flat, filling up the cupboards with food, and going over his most recent case files, making sure his notes were all up to date. He Flooed Molly on Saturday afternoon to beg off that night’s family dinner - he didn’t want to go in case Ron and Hermione hadn’t shown up; he’d be forced to answer questions that he didn’t want to get involved in. After promising that the stomach bug he was faking didn’t need anything more than some peace and quiet and some rest, he spent the evening curled up in front of the tv with a cup of tea. It was nice, if a little lonely.
He hadn’t heard the ringing noise all weekend, and he’d forgotten all about it, so it was a bit of a shock to find out that it had actually gotten worse. He’d been fine in his flat that morning, eating his slightly burnt toast as he got ready for work, but as soon as he’d Flooed into the Atrium and began greeting people he met along the way to the Auror department, the incessant ringing had started up all over again.
It had been loud and almost constant in the lift ride up to level four, and Harry tried to act as though nothing was wrong as he half listened to a pair of witches complimenting each other on their outfits. Harry thought the overly teased hairstyle the blonde was sporting looked like an owl had tried to nest in it, and the bright red high heels with yellow polka dots the brunette was wearing looked like a health hazard, but both girls were busy assuring the other that they looked amazing and Harry guessed he wasn’t really in a position to judge, what with his own liking for stretched out t shirts and jeans with holes in them.
The ringing had changed pitch as he’d caught up with Seamus and Dean arguing over who was more likely to win the Quidditch World Cup, becoming quieter and slightly less obtrusive. Seamus had been adamant that Sweden would win, and Harry and Dean both assured him that they knew his love for them had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with their latest swimsuit catalogue photoshoot. Seamus stuck his fingers up at the both of them and headed off to the department of magical Games and Sports, and Harry and Dean had laughed their way into the Auror department.
He’d sat in the department meeting for over an hour, trying to hold in his frustrated winces as the bloody ringing had sounded out over the top of almost everyone speaking, drowning out their words and leaving Harry struggling to keep up with the conversation. When Malfoy punched him on the arm and glared at him for accidentally signing them both up for Misuse of Muggle Artifacts rotation, Harry realised something had to be done.
“Hermione, I need your help.”
Hermione snorted quietly, not looking up from the mountain of papers and books on her desk. “Of course you do. Whatever it is, can it wait until lunch? I’ve really got to make sure I’ve covered all the bases with this new bill.”
Harry stood up straight from where he had been leaning against the doorjamb and sighed. “Yeah, I suppose it can. Meet in the Leaky later?” Hermione nodded distractedly, made a little noise of discovery and began scribbling furiously. “See you later then.”
Harry left Hermione to her law books and slowly retraced his steps back to his desk. Malfoy was still annoyed with him for unwittingly signing their lives away to boredom for the next week, and he wasn’t looking forward to facing him again. Harry sighed.
Malfoy was sitting at their desk when Harry appeared back in the Auror department, frowning down at a huge pile of files, all stamped ominously with the sickly green colour of the Misuse of Muggle Artifact division. He had his hands on the desk, one long pale fore finger tapping steadily against the wood. He looked up when Harry approached, but although his expression changed slightly, the frown didn’t disappear.
“Finally decided to show up, have we?”
“Sorry,” Harry replied, sitting down in his own chair and listlessly picking up a file. “I had to talk to Hermione about something.”
“Was the conversation about how you might have finally lost your marbles?”
Harry lifted his head up to find Malfoy staring at him, one delicate eyebrow raised. “What?”
Malfoy shrugged elegantly. “Well it’s always the little things that finally break somebody. I mean, you were fine when that illegal creatures smuggling ring caught you and hung you up by your toes, you were fine that time we got caught in a cave in with a rather noxious gas. Merlin, not even a Dark Lord managed to slow you down.” Malfoy leaned over the desk. “But then you hit your head while on a regular old potions ring hunt, and suddenly you want us chained to our desk.” He raked his eyes over Harry and then smirked, and Harry felt a flush rising at the image those words suggested. “Afraid to go out in the field now, are we?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “What? No! It was an accident, I just wasn’t listening, that’s all!”
“You seemed to be listening rather intently, actually.”
“Well maybe if you’d been concentrating on what Dawlish was saying instead of looking at me, you would have been able to stop me from agreeing to this,” Harry replied hotly.
Malfoy abruptly sat back in his chair, a faint flush of red appearing on his cheeks as he reached for a file. “As if I’d waste my time looking at you any more than I have to, Potter. I was merely wondering if you have to get an actual kneazle to chew on your hair to get it to look that atrocious.”
Rriiinngggg!
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Harry dropped his head down onto the desk with a dull thud. For a moment, he had been able to forget about that damn ringing.
Draco shrugged. “I’m just calling it how I see it, there’s no need for swearing.”
Rriiinngggg!
“Could we maybe just look through these files without speaking?” Harry asked the desk. He thought he might have found a pattern; there was no irritating ringing noise if there was nobody speaking.
“Fine, but you might want to have a chat with that kneazle and ask him to make sure you get out on the right side of the bed in the mornings,” Draco replied, pulling a file out from the pile and shoving it over onto Harry’s side of the desk. “Poking fun at you is less amusing when you’re in a bad mood.”
“Ever thought that you poking fun might be what puts me in a bad mood?”
“No, because when you’re in a good mood, your cheeks flush a pretty red colour.”
Harry lifted his head from the desk to stare at Malfoy, who suddenly flushed a pretty pink himself. Then he grinned, all teeth, as he said, “It makes you look even more ridiculous.”
Rriiinngggg!
Harry groaned and flopped back in his chair. “Just, shut up, okay? I have a headache coming on.” He picked up the file and began to read, his eyes glazing over almost immediately at the sheer boringness of the ‘crime’. “A sleeping mask charmed to give the wearer bad dreams? Really?”
“Personally, I’m looking forward to catching these evil bastards. This is what I became an Auror for, after all.”
Rriiinngggg!
Harry dropped the file and muffled a scream into his hands.
“I’m late, I know, I’m sorry,” Harry muttered as he slid into the booth opposite Hermione. “Malfoy made me organise the case files, as punishment for signing us up for MMA crimes for the week.”
The Leaky was fairly quiet, as it usually was on a Monday afternoon. Apart for the usual day time drinkers taking up a few stools close to the bar, the place was empty. Harry looked around as he removed his cloak and saw Sam once again behind the bar. Sam threw him a wink as he disappeared into the back and Harry flushed.
“One of these days, either Ron or I are going to persuade you to ask him out,” Hermione said with a little smirk.
Harry shook his head, feeling his face grow warmer still. “I don’t think... he’s not... I don’t even know if he likes, you know.” Harry waved his hand around, not looking at Hermione. After Friday night, Harry thought he knew exactly what Sam liked.
Hermione hummed. “If the way he watches your arse every time we leave is any indication, I’d say he definitely likes, you know.”
“He’s not my type,” Harry mumbled into the steaming mug of tea Hermione had ordered for him. Sam was definitely good looking enough, and Harry had spent most of the weekend wondering just why he had turned down Sam’s offer. There was just something missing for Harry, a kind of bite. Sam was just a bit too... smily, too open. Harry thought he probably preferred a bit of work involved in his relationships. Not that there had been many of them.
“Yes, tall, dark and handsome people don’t really have a lot going for them, do they, the poor things.”
Rriiinngggg!
Harry sighed. “I didn’t actually ask you here so you could quiz me on my dating life, Hermione.”
She sniffed, stirring her green tea. “You’d have to actually have one for me to do any quizzing, Harry.” Then she rolled her eyes and leaned back in her booth, folding the file in front of her to indicate she was listening.
“You know last month, when Ron hit his head on that case?” Harry began, haltingly.
Hermione frowned. “You mean the one with the missing candlesticks?”
Harry nodded, trying to contain his smirk. A ninety year old witch had stolen her solid silver candlesticks back from her granddaughter when she decided to give up her singing career and marry a dustman from Leeds, and had smacked Ron over the head with one of them when he’d gone to interview her. Ron had been the butt of the Aurors’ jokes for weeks afterwards.
“What about it, Harry?”
Harry bit his lip, wondering how to phrase his question. “Did he, er, complain about any problems after?”
“Well, he complained about the lump on his forehead, and the fact that Theo was more inclined to laugh at him instead of arresting the old woman for assault, not to mention that fake wand that George made turn into a candlestick at dinner the following week-”
“No,” Harry cut her off, although he made a note to ask George about that fake wand in the near future, “I meant, did he, you know, have any symptoms later?”
“Symptoms?” Hermione sat up straight, her ooh, a mystery to be researched and solved face slipping on. “What kind of symptoms?”
Harry shrugged, casting about for something to say. “I don’t know, blurred vision, or, or headaches? Or, er, a ringing noise when other people speak? But only sometimes,” he rushed on, “not every time someone speaks, just, you know, er, occasionally?” His voice trailed off into a whisper as he noticed Hermione’s eyebrows raising higher and higher.
“Harry,” she said sternly, “Are you experiencing any of these... symptoms?”
Harry’s face crumpled, and he put his coffee mug down on the table. “Okay, fine. Ever since I woke up in the hospital, I’ve been hearing this ringing sound. But it only happens sometimes, and it’s usually when I’m near other people.” He spread his hands helplessly. “I never hear it when I’m at home, and it doesn’t happen every time I’m near someone, just... sometimes when they speak?”
Hermione frowned, looking down at the table and tapping a fingernail against the file. “That doesn’t sound like a side effect of hitting your head, Harry,” she said slowly.
Harry groaned into his hands. “I’m going mad, aren’t I?”
“No, Harry, you’re not going mad.” Hermione reached out and laid her hand on his forearm, and Harry peeked out from between his fingers. “We just need to do a little research.”
Harry brightened. “You’ll help me?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “No, I’m going to leave you to wallow in your despair.”
Rriiinngggg!
“There!” Harry snapped his fingers. “It just happened again!”
“What, just now?” Hermione’s eyebrows drew together. “But all I said was...” She trailed off, her gaze going distant. Harry knew that look; it was the look she wore when she’d worked out that there was a basilisk hiding in the walls of Hogwarts.
“Hermione?”
She snapped out of it, gathering her files and shoving them into her bag. “I’m going to go and research those potions you were doused with when you fell,” she said, pulling out her purse to pay for her lunch. Harry waved her away, and she replaced it with a small smile.
“What do you think it is?”
“I can’t be sure yet, not until I’ve looked into it.” She shook her head. “I want you to remember exactly what was said and who said it, each time you hear the ringing noise, okay?” She patted his hand and stood up, looking over at the counter. Then she leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear. “And at least think about asking Sam out, okay? He’s been giving me the evil eye ever since I put my hand on your arm.”
Harry felt a flush burn over his cheeks and down his neck. Hermione winked at him and then walked away, giving Sam a wave goodbye as she ran out of the door. Harry looked down at the table and willed the red in his cheeks away.
“Anything else you fancy, Harry?”
Harry jumped, nearly knocking the remains of his coffee over the table. Sam was suddenly right there, leaning against the booth, his hip about an inch from Harry’s shoulder. Both his smile and his words were exactly the same as they’d been Friday night; inviting and easy.
“No, thanks, Sam,” Harry said, hiding a sigh. “I need to get back to work, actually.”
He thought he saw a glimmer of disappointment in those - really quite beautiful - eyes, but Sam just shrugged easily. “Sure, no problem. Maybe some other time.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Harry replied, knowing that he wasn’t likely to ever take up that offer of some other time. He paid the bill and left with a wave, back to Malfoy and the boring files of doom.
Harry and Malfoy spent the rest of the afternoon flipping through dull case file after dull case file, hardly exchanging a word between them. When Harry had got back from lunch, Malfoy had mimed zipping his lips, and Harry had rolled his eyes, wondering if his partner was ever going to forgive him for that morning. As the afternoon turned into late evening with nothing said except for the occasional request for coffee, it didn’t seem likely.
Harry was just getting to the end of the last file he had set aside for the day, when a memo flew into the room and started tapping at his shoulder. He grabbed it and unfolded it, grateful for any kind of break from the monotony on his desk in front of him. It was from Hermione, asking him to come to dinner so that they could discuss what she’d found out.
“That was quick,” Harry mumbled to himself.
Malfoy snorted across from him. “If this day is what you’d describe as quick, Potter, then I’d hate to see what a slow day is for you.”
“Not what I was talking about.”
Malfoy closed the file he’d spent the last hour reading and shoved it away from him with a moue of disgust. “Right, I am officially tapped out for the day, there’s really only so much boredom I can stand all at once.”
“Me too.” Harry stood up at the same time as Malfoy, dragging on his coat as he tried to sort the files into some kind of order. He didn’t want to accidentally reread something tomorrow, especially as it wasn’t likely he’d even notice, given the supreme lack of attention he had given them today.
“Do you fancy a drink at the Leaky?” Malfoy asked, leaning against their desk. He always leaned so well, Harry thought. “Merlin knows I could do with a Gillywater or two to help get over the excitement of today.”
Rriinnnggg!
Harry swallowed. It was the first time ever that Malfoy had expressed an interest in spending time with Harry outside of the office. “Er, sorry, I can’t tonight,” Harry stuttered, his instincts warring inside of him, one side desperate to say yes to Malfoy’s invitation and see if it meant things could change between them, and the other side insistent that he deserved more than whatever Malfoy was prepared to give him and he should walk away before he got any closer. He lifted the memo still clenched in his fist. “I have plans already.”
Malfoy shrugged. “Of course, no problem. Maybe some other time.”
Rriiinngggg!
“Besides, I’ve already more than filled my boredom quota for at least the rest of the month, you I’d be quite likely to hex you into a slug if I spent so much as a second more in your company, so it’s probably for the best,” Malfoy sniffed, doing up his coat buttons.
Rriinnngggg!
Harry massaged his temples, the ringing and the pounding of his heart making him feel slightly sick. “Thanks, Malfoy,” he said, distractedly.
“It’s for your own good, really. I’d hate for you to get hurt on my account.”
Harry braced himself for it, but this time there was no infuriating ringing, and by the time he’d looked back up, Malfoy was already pushing his way through the doors without so much as a backward glance. Harry sighed, remembering what Hermione had asked him to do, that he’d forgotten about in the relative silence of the afternoon. He decided to wait until dinner, when he could go over all the occurrences with Hermione and Ron. Maybe a nice, hot vindaloo would help him remember.
“So, let me get this straight,” Ron said, around a mouthful of sag aloo, “Every so often you hear a ringing noise, when people speak, but only sometimes, right?”
Harry nodded and stuck another forkful of rice into his mouth.
“And nobody else can hear it?”
Harry shook his head.
“So, what kind of things are they saying when you hear the noise?”
Harry looked up, surprised; he hadn’t thought of that. He turned to Hermione, who was looking at Ron with a smug smile on her face, and realised that he was the only one not to have made that connection.
“Um, I don’t know, really. Most of the time it’s just ordinary stuff.”
“Like what?” Hermione asked, and Harry watched with trepidation as she conjured some parchment and a quill.
Harry cast his mind back. “Er, in the hospital, when you got annoyed with me for making a joke, Malfoy said some stuff about not being mad at me, Ron was talking about his mum-”
“Can’t you be more specific?” Hermione interrupted him.
“I can’t think of the exact phrasing, no, Hermione,” Harry replied rather hotly. “Can you remember everything everyone says to you during the day?”
“You do remember who you’re talking to, right?” Ron interjected, earning himself a dark look.
“Try to remember something, Harry, even if it’s just one time.”
Harry screwed up his eyes, trying to remember. “You said tall, dark and handsome people don’t have a lot going for them.”
“Well that’s true,” Ron said with a grin. “It’s gingers who have all the fun, as the saying goes.”
“Actually, that’s blondes,” Hermione said absently, scribbling away furiously on the parchment.
“Maybe it’s related to sarcasm,” Ron mused, ignoring Hermione.
Harry snorted. “Right, I get hit over the head and doused in a load of untested and illegal potions, and suddenly my brain decides it can’t cope with sarcasm?”
“Actually...” Hermione stopped scribbling and tapped the end of her quill against her chin. “Ron might have a point there.”
“Maybe that’s what gingers are known for then, being geniuses.” Ron leaned forward over the table. “Merlin was a ginger, you know.”
Rriinnngggg!
“There, I just heard it again,” Harry said. “And not according to the chocolate frog cards he wasn’t.”
“You heard it just now?” Hermione asked, pursing her lips in thought when Harry nodded. “I think I might know what’s happening.”
Harry grinned; he knew he had a genius for a best friend for a reason (and an actual genius, not a red-head masquerading as one). “Do you think you might also know how to stop it?”
Hermione shook her head. “Not until I can do some more research into those potions you were covered in.”
“I can get the Unspeakable department to give you some samples, if you want,” Ron said, looking forlornly into the empty madras tin. “The case is pretty much closed now that we’ve caught the arseholes.”
“So, what exactly is happening to me, then?” Harry asked, feeling himself deflate slightly. Whatever it was, he just wanted it to go away and leave him alone.
“I think it’s some kind of lie detector.”
“A what?”
“Let’s try an experiment.” Hermione cast her eyes about the room for a moment. “Hmm, okay. My name is Hermione Granger.”
Harry stared at her. “Er, yes?”
“We all met on the Hogwarts Express. We went to school together.”
“Hermione, are you alright?” Ron asked, looking concerned.
Hermione waved impatiently at him. “Hush, Ron, I’m trying to set a baseline here.”
“What’s a baseline?” Ron asked, but Hermione just talked over him.
“You’re twenty two years old.”
“I haven’t actually lost my memory, you know.”
“And today, you asked Sam from the bartender out on a date.”
Rriiinngggg!
“You did?” Ron let out a whoop. “Hey, way to go, mate, he’s been eyeing you up for months.”
“No I didn’t,” Harry spluttered indignantly, “And he has not.”
Hermione smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t, and he absolutely has been, and really obviously too if even Ron noticed.”
“Hey!”
Hermione reached over and ran her hands through Ron’s hair soothingly. “Did you hear the noise when I said it, though, Harry?”
“Yes,” Harry said, surprised.
Hermione’s smile widened. “See? Whenever you hear someone telling a lie, you hear the noise. A lie detector.”
Ron pouted slightly. “I thought you said I was right about the sarcasm?”
“I said you had a point, and you do.” Hermione put down her parchment and summoned three bottles of butterbeer from the kitchen. “Sarcasm is when you say the exact opposite of what you mean, so in a way, it’s a lie, simply because you’re not telling the truth.”
Harry popped off the top of his drink and took a big gulp. “So, now that we know what it is, we can get rid of it, right?”
“Well, first of all we have to work out how it happened to you, so that we can reverse it.”
“And seeing as we still know absolutely nothing about those potions that were spilled on you,” Ron said with a grin, “That should be easy.”
Rriinnngggg!
Harry groaned. “Could we leave off with the sarcasm until this thing has gone, please?”
It was strange how knowing what the noise was changed the way Harry viewed his new - and hopefully temporary - power. He quite enjoyed himself in the lifts that morning, listening to the conversations flowing around him, his lips quirking every time he heard a lie being told. It was quite exhilarating, knowing something that others didn’t know - like the fact that Padma Patil absolutely hated the new pair of emerald earrings Zabini had bought her recently (and Harry didn’t blame her; even with his lack of fashion sense, he could tell how gaudy they were). By the time he reached the Auror department, he’d learned that Marjorie the receptionist most definitely had a crush on Dean Thomas (which would be excellent joke fodder for their next night at the pub, because Marjorie was at least eighty years old and sported a rather hairy wart on her chin), Theo couldn’t play Quidditch if his life depended on it, and Sarah the pretty new Unspeakable was a little bit in love with Hermione.
Harry found himself in quite a good mood as he neared his desk, his smile widening when he saw that Malfoy had already beaten him there. He bit his lip to hide his smirk; he might be able to have a bit of fun with this.
“Morning, Malfoy, you look good today!”
Malfoy looked up at him incredulously. It was possible that Harry was overdoing it a bit. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “Are you taking the mick?”
“What? No!” And Harry really wasn’t. Malfoy did look very good, but then, that wasn’t really different to how he usually looked. That bright blond hair and almost translucent skin, long fingers and delicate wrists, the obvious lean muscle hidden just tantalisingly out of reach beneath the simple but clearly expensive clothes he wore. It all made Harry want-
He cut his own thoughts off right there, because it didn’t matter what Harry wanted, because it was obvious that Malfoy was never going to feel the same way. He’d worked that out weeks ago, and now he was moving on.
Harry waved his hand and sat down in his chair. “No, I’m just in a good mood this morning.” He grabbed the file nearest to him, determined not to let anything bring him down, not the boring cases in front of him, or even the way Malfoy was watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“How was last night?”
“Hmm?” For a moment, Harry didn’t know what Malfoy was talking about, and then it hit him. “Oh, you mean with Ron and Hermione? It was fine. Pretty normal for us, really.” Well, normal if you didn’t count Harry’s current little problem that they were trying to solve. And that actually did count for normal, now that Harry thought about it; weird little problems seemed to happen to Harry rather a lot.
“Oh.” Malfoy looked down at the file spread across his desk. “I thought you said you had plans.”
Harry frowned. “I did have plans, with Ron and Hermione.”
Malfoy smirked slightly, a line of tension dropping from his shoulders that Harry hadn’t even realised was there until it was gone. “Usually, Potter, when people say they have plans, they mean they have a date.”
“They do?”
Although now that Harry thought about it, he realised he knew that. He usually talked about any plans he made with either of his best friends as me and Ron are playing Quidditch this weekend or I’m meeting Hermione for lunch later today. But when people had asked him if he was going to celebrate a closed case at the pub, Harry had always begged off, stating that he had other plans already, when he really meant that he was going back to the office in the hope that Malfoy wanted to let off some of their adrenaline together.
Harry thought back to their brief conversation the night before. He’d been distracted by the ringing, but he’d also been trying to convince himself to move on from his stupid crush on Malfoy. Could a part of him have been trying to make Malfoy jealous with that statement? More importantly, had he been?
Harry suddenly desperately wanted to know the answer to that. And right now, with his current power, he could find out.
“Well,” Harry said slowly, wondering how far he could push it, “Maybe I was just confusing the day.” He watched carefully, and he felt a small spark of hope flare to life as he saw the tension slide back onto Malfoy’s shoulders.
“You have a date?”
Malfoy’s eyes were intent upon him suddenly, and Harry revelled in the slight possessive tone the words carried. And then he remembered Friday night, seeing Malfoy leave the pub just after his conversation with Sam.
Harry shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. “I don’t know if it’s a date as much as it is two people trying to get to know each other better.” He looked up at Malfoy, watching him carefully. “All I know about him right now is that he can pull a really nice pint.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt there’s much more about that Australian twat that you need to know,” he spat out.
“Sam’s not a twat,” Harry admonished, absolutely having fun now. If a part of him felt bad for using Sam’s name in this game he was suddenly playing, it was eclipsed by the rapidly growing bubble of hope that watching Malfoy getting flustered was giving him. “He’s actually really nice, and very good looking.”
“You do know he flirted with everyone that walked up to that bar on Friday, don’t you? I doubt he thinks you’re anything special.”
Rriiinngggg!
There it was, the first lie. “You were at the pub on Friday night?”
Malfoy’s face whitened slightly. “I stopped in for a few minutes.”
“Why didn’t you come over and say hello? We were all celebrating our win.”
Malfoy’s eyes darted around the cubicle. “It was only a few minutes. I had other plans.”
Rriiinngggg!
“Oh, you mean you had a date?”
“Yes.”
Rriiinngggg!
Harry stifled his triumphant smirk as something that felt a little like relief flooded through his veins. “That’s okay then.” Harry laughed lightly. “For a moment there I thought you left because you’d seen me chatting with Sam.”
Malfoy wasn’t looking at him at all now. “Nope, must have missed it, probably because I wasn’t interested.”
Rriiinngggg!
“Because if you had done that,” Harry went on relentlessly, “I might have thought seeing me flirt with someone else made you jealous.”
Malfoy spluttered, a flush spreading prettily up his cheeks. “Me? Jealous? Of a twat whose only job prospect is tending bar in a dingy pub? I doubt it, Potter.”
Rriiinngggg!
“So, just so I’m clear,” harry said, bringing a confused frown onto his face. “Me flirting with Sam didn’t make you jealous?”
“No, Potter,” Malfoy spat. “I don’t care who you flirt with. You wanting to go out on a date with an idiot bartender is no skin off my nose. I know you thought that we had some sort of relationship going on when we were shagging, but it meant nothing to me, Potter. So you can go out and date whoever the hell you want to, because I. Don’t. Care.”
Rriiinngggg! Rriiinnggggg! Rriiinngggg! Rriiinngggg! Rriiinngggg!
“Liar,” Harry said softly into the sudden silence. Malfoy made a scoffing noise, but Harry kept on. “No, shut up, Malfoy, because you’re lying.”
Harry stood up, placing his hands flat on the desk as he leaned over it, forcing Malfoy to look up at him. “Every single time you lie, I get a ringing noise inside my head. It’s been happening ever since I got doused with those potions last week and it happens every time anyone lies within hearing distance. So I know that every time you tell me that you don’t care about me that you’re talking completely out of your arse!”
Malfoy spluttered. “I- I’m not!”
“You care about me, Malfoy.”
“I do not!”
<Rriiinngggg!
“Yes you do. And what we had meant more to you than just a shag to work off some steam.”
“No it didn’t, I already told-”
Rriiinngggg!”
“Lie. You care about me, you’re just too scared to admit it, to have something real.”
“No!”
Rriiinngggg!”
“Stop lying, Draco!”
The name slipped from Harry’s tongue easily, as though it had been waiting for just the right moment to be used. Harry was breathing hard, staring down into Draco’s face, the flush in his cheeks sliding away to be replaced with the sheer whiteness of shock.
Harry shook his head. “You always were a coward at school, Draco. Everyone knew it, but then you trained to become an Auror, and you left that behind.” Harry tilted his head, trying to catch Draco’s gaze with his own. “You’re not a coward any more, Draco,” Harry said softly. “Don’t be one now.”
Draco gave him one quick, panicked look, and then bolted out of his chair, almost running past the rest of the Auror desks and disappearing through the doors.
Harry sighed and slumped into his chair. It was very possible that he had just bollocksed everything up.
Harry was worn out by the time he entered his flat. He’d had to invent some excuse for why Malfoy wasn’t at their desk when their boss had strolled by, and once he’d realised that the old file room was actually not a bad place to do some research into their current list of MMA crimes, he decided to head down there himself. He’d figured that if he could at least clear some of these cases, it might go some way to appeasing both his boss and his partner.
Not that Malfoy was likely to want to still be his partner after what Harry had said to him.
Harry had spent most of the day torn between feeling guilty and feeling vindicated, in a small, mean way. He’d spent a good few weeks thinking that Draco had only been in it for the sex, and that had made Harry feel bad about himself for consenting to sleeping with someone who hated him. He’d felt wrong-footed, tricked into thinking that something had been developing between them when there hadn’t been, and finding out that he hadn’t been wrong, that Draco had been lying to him, had exhilarated Harry and he’d spoken without thinking. And it had felt good.
Harry felt guilty that he’d upset Draco, but he also felt as though he had deserved it, that Draco deserved a taste of what he’d put Harry through when he’d fucked him over their desk and then unceremoniously informed him that he didn’t like Harry and never would. So Harry had stuffed his conflicting feelings to the side and spent the better part of the day sifting through old MMA case files, sneezing through the dust as an act of penance and solving the majority of the cases quite by accident.
It turned out that one of the janitors working the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts floor had found some of the confiscated items and redistributed them across London’s pawn shops in order to make a little money. When Harry had interviewed him late that afternoon, it seemed he had assumed that the curses had been lifted and would now be safe for Muggles. He’d tried to buy them back but was too late, and hadn’t wanted to turn himself in through fear of losing his job. Which he now had, because while stealing from the Ministry was definitely frowned upon, risking the lives of Muggles and threatening the Statute of Secrecy was a much bigger crime. Harry felt kind of sorry for the man.
He still hadn’t seen Draco by the time their shift was over, and although he credited solving the cases to the work Draco had done in the old file room (that Harry had done instead), he couldn’t help but wonder is Draco was even going to come back. Maybe he would ask to be reassigned straight away, and to be put on a different shift schedule. The Auror department wasn’t actually huge, but Harry knew that there were ways that Draco could organise it so that they had barely any interaction throughout their working days.
And that was what harry was upset about the most. He’d been angry, and upset, and he’d wanted more from Draco, especially once he realised that Draco had wanted the same thing, no matter how much he’d tried to hide it. But the thought of hardly seeing him, of not getting to work with him? That thought burned hotter in his stomach than the feeling of humiliation he’d been suffering through before.
It had been with heavy footsteps and a heavier heart that he’d answered Hermione’s summons to her office, but if she’d noticed how depressed Harry was looking, she hadn’t commented. She’d just launched into her findings of her investigation into the potions Harry had been doused with, carrying on even as Harry’s eyes glazed over with confusion and disinterest, and Harry had left her office with a dull headache threatening behind his eyes. He’d gone straight home, wanting nothing more than some food, a hot shower, and a night on his sofa with some mindless telly.
He got two of those things, shoving some leftover Chinese into the microwave to reheat and jumping into the shower while he waited. He ate standing up in his kitchen, barefoot and in pyjama bottoms, before throwing the half empty container away and trudging into his living room, grabbing the soft throw Ginny had insisted he buy years ago, and the tv remote.
And then his doorbell rang.
Harry looked up, frowning. Nobody ever knocked at his door. His flat was Unplottable, something he’d had to do when crazy fans and admirers had started following him everywhere in the aftermath of the war. The few friends and family he had who knew his address also had the code to open his Floo, and all of them would call him there. The only one who had his Floo address and yet had never used it was...
Heart in his throat, Harry walked down the hall and pulled the front door open. Draco stood staring back at him.
“What are you doing here?” Harry asked, dumbfounded. He saw the flinch across Draco’s face as he backed up a step, and Harry shot his hand out. “No, wait! I just meant, why didn’t you use the Floo?”
Draco swallowed. “I wasn’t sure you’d answer if you knew it was me.”
“I would have,” Harry said quietly.
“Can I come in?”
Harry nodded and stepped back from the doorway, shivering slightly as the cool wool of Draco’s cloak brushed across his bare chest. Hed shut the door and led Draco into the kitchen, putting on the kettle to make them both a cup of coffee.
The silence was loud and intrusive as they both waited for the water to boil, Harry busying himself with finding cups and spoons and milk and sugar, fishing through the cupboards to see if he had any biscuits he could offer, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the dish towel, anything to avoid looking at Draco.
Draco, for his part, stood silently against the counter, staring down at his shoes but his eyes occasionally flicking up to follow Harry’s movements across the room. It seemed as though neither of them knew what to say now that they were faced with each other, and none of the things Harry had thought of during the day seemed to be right now that they were here.
The coffee made and biscuits found, Harry gestured for Draco to have a seat on one of the breakfast stools, and they both perched there, warily picking up their drinks and looking at everything but each other as they drank. The tension ratcheted up to almost unbearable levels with each sip taken in yet more silence. Harry couldn’t bear it any longer, and he opened his mouth.
“Draco, I’m-”
“You were right,” Draco blurted out over the top of him, and Harry almost dropped his cup.
“Draco, you don’t-”
“No, let me finish.” Draco shifted on his seat, turning to look Harry in the eyes for the first time since that morning. “If what you said this morning is true, then I can’t lie to you right now. So I’m going to say it this once, when I don’t have any option other than to tell you the truth, because otherwise I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say it.”
Harry took a deep breath. “Draco-”
“Just, just let me say it, and then you can do whatever you want, okay?”
Draco’s grey eyes were open and pleading, and Harry swallowed hard and nodded.
“You were right. This morning, you were right about everything. I was jealous when I saw you talking to that bartender, and I don’t like that you’re going on a date with him, and I didn’t have a date that night, or any other night, for that matter.” Draco laughed, a short, painful sound. “And I... I don’t not like you, either,” he continued, his voice dropping into a whisper. “I’ve liked you for... quite a long time now, and I thought that maybe if we had... what we had, that that would be enough for me.”
He went quiet, and Harry leaned forward. “And was it? Was it enough?”
Draco shook his head, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips. “It doesn’t matter, does it? I just wanted to have something, even if it was just sex. I thought that if I kept it to just that, it wouldn’t hurt when it finally ended. Because you’re Harry Potter, and me, I’m a Malfoy.” The name was said with a twist of his mouth, and Harry watched as his right hand reflexively grabbed at his left forearm. “Any relationship we might have had would never had lasted very long.”
“Relationships only end when the people in them decide they don’t want it any more, Draco,” Harry said softly.
Draco grimaced, obviously not believing him. “Anyway, you know I’m telling the truth right now, so now you know everything.”
“Actually...” Harry bit his lip. “I was cured earlier this evening. Hermione worked out an antidote and I took it just before I left the office.”
Draco stared at him for a long moment, and then let out a sharp laugh, a sound completely devoid of humour. “Well then, in that case I’ve just made a complete fool out of myself for no reason.” He stood up abruptly. “I’m just going to go now.”
“Draco, wait.” Harry reached out, grabbing a hold of Draco’s wrist as he tried to walk away, standing up from his stool. “You did what you came here to do, you told the truth and I believe you.”
“How can you know for sure?” Draco asked, his head still turned away from Harry.
“Because it took guts,” Harry said, shrugging. “Telling someone how you really feel can be scary. Coming here tonight and saying what you said makes you really brave, Draco, so it can only be the truth.”
Draco mumbled something under his breath, and Harry reached up gripping his chin and turning him to face him. “What was that?”
“I like it when you say my name,” Draco whispered, eyes on Harry’s mouth.
Harry smiled. “I’ll say it as often as you want,” he promised. “We both want this, and it’ll work for as long as we still feel that way.” He rested his forehead against Draco’s, closing his eyes. “Be brave one more time, Draco.”
He felt Draco’s sigh a moment before their lips connected, soft, warm pressure that held promises of many more to come. Harry slid his arms around Draco’s waist, pulling him closer, feeling Draco’s fingers sliding through his hair, pulling gently. They stood like that for long minutes, breathing into each other and kissing like they had all the time in the world. They had never kissed like this before, had always been hurried, quick movements that left each other breathless, before moving on to other things that adrenaline demanded they take from each other. This was kissing just for kissing’s sake, and just that fact alone left Harry just as breathless.
It took a long time for their touches to become more frantic, for their hands to become demanding, for their kisses to become hard and desperate. Harry’s back connected sharply with the counter and his hips shoved forward instinctively, grinding into Draco’s. His fingers were busy trying to undo the buttons on Draco’s shirt, and he could feel Draco fumbling at the waist of his pyjama bottoms.
Harry finally broke their kiss, burying his nose in the pale skin of Draco’s neck and whispering, “It’s been so long, I need you in me, Gods, I need it, now.”
He felt Draco nod his head in agreement, but before Harry could reach for the zip on his trousers, Draco pulled away, hands on Harry’s arms to keep him from following.
“Wait,” Draco gasped, his lips red and slick and utterly gorgeous.
“What?” Harry frowned, confused. “Why?”
Draco let go of one of Harry’s arms and lifted his hand to cup his face. He smiled, a little shyly.
“Because, Harry, I think we should do this in a bed.”
Harry smiled, took Draco’s hand, and led him down the hall.