Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was quite jarring, how noticeable the difference in weather was after taking an international Portkey. One moment, they were surrounded by heavy grey clouds, and the next, they were greeted by a sunny sky and a warm, soft breeze—so much more inviting than the crisp, cold morning air that wouldn't warm up for hours. Harry had never set foot in Spain before; his knowledge of the country was limited to passing comments about holidays he had heard over the years.

The international Portkey they used landed them in a bustling, magical travel hub in Madrid’s city centre. Although they weren’t planning to stay long, they had time to grab something for breakfast. Nora opted for coffee and a Spanish tomato toast drizzled with olive oil. Harry copied her and soon they were back in the magic travel agency, taking their Portkey to Guadalajara.

Yesterday Nora had briefly explained why they were heading there. A house protection item had attacked a guest who had merely been having dinner. The victim—a British witch who was a friend of the home owner—was quickly taken to a magical hospital and was currently out of danger, but the curse she received was severe enough that had she not received medical care promptly, she could have died.

The item in question was of British origin. It had been purchased a few months ago by the owner of the house during a trip to London. They needed to rule out foul play and conduct some preliminary investigations into the incident and the magical item before an expert could be sent to either fix it or deactivate it if necessary.

After their arrival in Guadalajara, they set off to speak with the owner of the house—or so Harry thought— until Nora paused as they neared the house.

“While researching the last owners of the item, I discovered that their son is currently living in this city too.” They stood near the door, and Harry turned to look at her as she spoke.

“It seemed like an awfully convenient coincidence, so I thought we should pay him a visit.” By now, Harry recognised the look on her face—deceptively kind and relaxed—which was to keep suspects from becoming defensive, especially before they realised they were being considered as such. This meant they were there to determine whether this person had any connection to the incident, not just to inquire about the item.

They walked the two metres that separated them from the door and knocked. Moments later, the door opened, and Harry nearly gasped. He couldn’t help but stare at the blond boy before him, his mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds, only remembering to close it when Malfoy spoke.

“What do you want?” He sounded annoyed but didn’t comment on Harry’s presence, even though it was clear he was just as surprised. His eyes widened in an exaggerated, almost comical manner upon seeing Harry.

“You're Draco Malfoy, right? I'm Nora Ellis, an Auror from the European agency MEPol, and this is my partner, Harry Potter. I was hoping you could provide us with information about a magical item your family owned.”

A brief silence fell, one that no one seemed willing to fill, until Nora broke it again.

“Do you mind if we come in?”

Harry doubted Malfoy would give a positive answer. He hadn't fully opened the door, keeping it ajar just enough to obscure the interior of the house. It wasn’t particularly welcoming.

“Wait here for a moment.” He suddenly closed the door, and they heard noises on the other side. Harry was still processing the fact that they were speaking to Draco Malfoy in Spain, which explained his sudden disappearance at the end of his three-month house arrest, less than a year ago.

The door swung open again.

“I’ll talk to you outside.” He stepped out and quickly closed the door behind him.

His thin, baggy linen trousers and loose-fitting, short-sleeved shirt seemed much more suitable for the heat than Harry's jeans and snug, thick cotton T-shirt. The thin layer of sweat he felt forming in various places only confirmed this notion.

“What item are you talking about?” Malfoy asked, looking at Nora while pointedly ignoring Harry.

“It’s a house protection item that resembles a small wooden carving of a wolf. It’s embedded with complex spells, and as far as we know, it’s only supposed to attack burglars or anyone who harms the house or its inhabitants. But recently, it nearly killed a guest who was just having dinner there. Does that ring any bells with you?”

Malfoy’s eyes flickered with recognition, but he quickly schooled his features into an expression of indifference. He folded his arms across his chest and glanced away from Nora, eyes narrowing as though deep in thought.

"A wolf carving," he repeated slowly. "I remember something like that being in our house when I was younger. It was one of the lesser-known items from our family vault. My father was particularly fond of it." His gaze shifted briefly to Harry before returning to Nora. "But I haven’t seen it in some time. It was sold among other items before we lost the Manor."

Harry watched him closely, still somewhat stunned to be standing here with Malfoy under such different circumstances. The boy he knew at Hogwarts, with his sharp sneers and arrogant attitude, seemed to have been replaced by someone who was more guarded and wary. But then again, many things had happened since those early days, no one he knew had stayed the same.

Nora leaned slightly forward, her expression neutral but focused. "Do you know anything about the spells placed on it? Or why it would attack someone who wasn't a threat?"

Draco uncrossed his arms, rubbing his jaw in thought. "No... I mean, I never handled it personally. I’m not sure of the exact spells that were used to make it, but it was one of those old relics, layered with ancient magic. Probably cursed or dangerous in ways my father didn't fully explain. He never really bothered to check whether items were safe, as long as they served his purposes." His tone was bitter, and Harry noticed the way Malfoy's jaw tightened as he spoke.

"Your father never mentioned any potential risks with it?" Nora asked, her voice sharp but not unkind.

Malfoy shook his head, but Harry could sense a hesitation there, like Draco was holding something back. The silence stretched between them, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the tension of their Hogwarts days hung heavy in the air again.

"Look," Draco finally said, sighing heavily, "if you're asking whether I cursed the thing or tampered with it—no, I didn’t. I've got no interest in being involved in any more... issues with the Ministry. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime. If you're thinking about foul play, it won’t be coming from me."

Nora studied him for a moment, then nodded. "We’re not accusing you of anything. We just need to gather information to understand what happened."

Draco seemed to relax slightly, though his posture remained rigid. He glanced briefly at Harry, as if weighing whether or not to speak, then turned back to Nora. "The only thing I can tell you is that some of those family relics... they don’t always behave predictably. Even if no one messes with them. Especially if they’ve been out of their original environment for too long. They can react badly when moved, or when they’re handled by people outside the bloodline. It could be something like that. And on top of that, there may have been a miscommunication with the item regarding the type of security the owner expected."

Nora made a note in her small journal, her expression unreadable. "That’s useful information. Thank you."

As the conversation seemed to be wrapping up, Harry couldn't help but finally speak. "Malfoy... how did you end up here? In Spain?"

Malfoy's pale grey eyes met his for the first time since they'd arrived, and Harry could see a flicker of something that was hard to place. Resignation? Annoyance? He wasn't sure.

"I needed a fresh start, Potter. Away from all of it. After everything..." He shrugged, as if that was explanation enough. "Spain seemed far enough."

There was a beat of silence, but before Harry could press further, Nora tucked her journal away and spoke up. "Thanks for your time. We’ll keep in touch if we need more information." She offered a professional, polite smile, and Malfoy nodded curtly in return.

As they turned to leave, Harry cast one last glance over his shoulder at Malfoy, standing alone outside the modest house, the hot Spanish sun casting long shadows across his face. He looked oddly out of place in this world, yet strangely at peace with it.

Once they were a few streets away, Harry finally felt the shock beginning to fade. "Well, that was... unexpected."

Nora smirked. "Welcome to international investigations, Harry. You never know who you'll run into."

They continued their walk in silence for a moment before Harry spoke again. "Do you think he's telling the truth?"

Nora shrugged. "Hard to say. He didn’t seem like he was lying, but people like him—who’ve been through what he has—they get good at hiding things. We’ll have to follow up on the item’s origins, maybe cross-check his story with some of the documentation we have. But for now, we focus on the owner of the house and see what else we can dig up."

Harry nodded, his thoughts still on Malfoy. There was something about seeing him again, in such an unexpected place, that had stirred up a flood of old memories. But he pushed them aside. There was work to do.

Speaking with the owner of the house—who insisted they called him by his first name, Fernando, even if Harry was sure they weren’t pronouncing it properly— didn’t shed much light on the matter. He provided as many details as he could about the day of the incident and allowed them to enter the house to perform some preliminary diagnostic spells. Nothing seemed to contradict his account of that night or the victim’s account of the incident, and they didn’t learn much more about the protection item. Fernando mentioned that the seller had included some instructions, and he hadn’t had much trouble setting it up. Before they left, Fernando told them that he was going to spend a couple of weeks outside the city, and gave them the keys of his house so they could keep investigating.

That night, they chose to eat at a restaurant that seemed popular with the locals. As Nora took a sip of her wine, she suddenly remembered something.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to consult with an expert in Spanish magical houses to see if the house’s magic differs enough from British houses to cause the protection item to malfunction. I’ll be making a trip to Valencia and should be back the following day for dinner. In the meantime, could you ask Draco Malfoy to accompany you to the house and check if the item was set up correctly?” Harry must have failed to hide his dismay, because he could see in Nora’s face her curiosity growing, after her last question.

“I forgot to ask earlier, what’s your history with him? You both seemed… a bit shaken at the sight of each other.” He wasn’t sure how to answer that succinctly.

“We… have a complicated past. He was a bully and a big supporter of blood purity, which created an intense rivalry between us for years. At one point, I even thought he was as bad as any of Voldemort’s followers.” He appreciated that she didn’t flinch at the name, another reason why he liked her. “But during the last two years before the final battle, so many difficult things happened to everyone, including him, that my perspective isn’t so black and white anymore.” He paused, letting his gaze wander as he lost himself in thought for a moment before continuing.

“That said, I still think he’s a git, and I wouldn’t trust him with anything I cared about. Do you think it’s a good idea to let him near the item when we’re not one hundred percent sure he didn’t have anything to do with what happened?” Nora, who had been listening intently, smiled at his question.

“Don’t worry. While I expect you to keep an eye on him the entire time he’s there, I’ll also ensure the expert checks the item before the owner of the house returns.”

After that conversation, Harry’s appetite had nearly vanished, making it difficult for him to finish his dinner. He didn’t quite understand why he felt so nervous. While the prospect of spending a few hours with Malfoy was hardly appealing—back at Hogwarts, he would have preferred polishing the silver in the trophy room with Filch to spending time with him—he couldn’t pinpoint why it unsettled him so much now. He wondered if it was because Malfoy seemed different; Harry wasn’t sure what to expect from him. Being confrontational and suspicious of every move Malfoy made was the only way he knew to interact with him, and it was hard to imagine anything different, let alone more civil.

The next morning, he awoke feeling as if he had barely slept, the remnants of a nightmare turning to ashes as consciousness took hold. They left a bitter taste in his mouth and a vague sense of being out of place he couldn't quite shake. The day seemed even less appealing than before. Still, he persevered, and after a satisfying breakfast and an enjoyable walk, he found himself standing in front of Malfoy’s house. It was set in a stretch of green land near the Henares river, just outside the small city, hidden from Muggles but so close that within a few minutes' walk, you’d be back in the streets of Guadalajara. The modestly priced hotel where they were staying was a twenty-five-minute walk away, and by the time he arrived, he already felt better, less pessimistic.

Before knocking on the door, he had a fleeting thought about the decisions and events that had led him to stand outside of Malfoy’s house. The memory of the day he was informed of this case came to mind. That morning, Nora had been in a good mood.

“It's time to get rid of your training wheels.” Her smile was contagious, and he felt a small rush of excitement.

“Where are we going?” He was eager to leave England, even if it was only for a few days. Harry knew that walking around in public without the fear of being recognised would feel incredibly liberating.

“Guadalajara. Is it your first time going to Spain?” He nodded. “Then a piece of advice: don’t forget to bring weather-appropriate clothes if you don’t want to feel like you’re in a sauna for the whole trip.”

The few regrets he had about his internship choice had slowly disappeared each day since meeting Nora, and they completely vanished after receiving the news that they would finally be travelling to another country. He was glad it was worth it because when he had asked to be paired with her for the internship and it was approved, it had felt too much like receiving special treatment for his taste. Harry dreaded the idea that people might think he actually expected such treatment. He wasn't even sure whether asking for special treatment to avoid receiving even more of it constituted a form of special treatment or not. But he didn't feel comfortable asking, anyway.

Regardless, he had requested to be paired with an Auror in the newly established MEPol (an international magical law enforcement agency that had Aurors with prior international experience from all over Europe). This meant most of his internship would be spent outside the UK, away from the press. He would be the first trainee to do so, but Shacklebolt agreed it was the best approach for “someone with such fame in the UK”. Harry grimaced slightly at that. The war had ended just over a year ago, yet he was still waiting for people and the press to move on and find a more interesting topic than his every move.

He had thought the press’s obsession with him was bad before the end of the war; now he missed that. With the level of coverage he had been receiving since then, he had become so fed up that he didn’t want to go outside without his invisibility cloak or a glamour to disguise him. Even then, someone sometimes managed to follow him and take pictures. The thought of starting his internship and having people (even suspects) asking him for photographs in the middle of an interrogation, or worse, having the paparazzi disrupt a stakeout, made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Harry, you know no one at the Ministry would blame you for that, don't you?” Hermione had told him when he voiced those concerns. Though she had to agree that any Auror he partnered with would get annoyed sooner or later if such situations happened frequently, even if they didn’t fully blame Harry for it.

He also hoped that by being paired with an Auror who spent most of their time outside the country, he wouldn’t be assigned someone who tried to give him special treatment, but rather someone who would treat him just like any other Auror in training. So far, Nora had done just that, so in that regard, his internship was going well. The whole running-into-Malfoy situation, however, was less appreciated.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door hoping he hadn't come too early, half a minute later the door swung open.

“You again? What do you want this time?” Malfoy looked a little sleepy—not as if he'd been woken up by the knocking, but as if Harry had interrupted his breakfast. He seemed to become more alert when he realised it was only Harry. “Where’s the woman from yesterday? What are you doing here all alone?” His expression began to shift to wariness, Harry even thought he detected a hint of concern. Before his thoughts could spiral further, Harry interrupted him.

“My partner Nora is busy consulting with an expert, so it’s just me today. I’m here because we thought it would be a good idea for you to check if the item is set up properly. Or at least to have you take a look at it, in case you notice anything wrong or unusual.” Malfoy didn’t seem to believe him at all.

“You… think it’s a good idea to ask me for help.” He uttered the sentence dripping with sarcasm. Harry felt a flush of embarrassment creep onto his cheeks.

“That’s not…! Nora thought it was a good idea. But I agree it might help us if you notice something wrong with it.” He lowered his gaze, unwilling to meet Malfoy’s eyes directly.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll do something dark if given the chance?” Harry looked up again, right into Malfoy’s eyes. He sounded a bit… vulnerable. Their eyes stayed locked for a fleeting moment before the tension passed. Harry cleared his throat.

“We don’t consider you a suspect. And… I really don’t think you would do it just for the sake of it.” One vulnerable glance, that’s all it took for Harry to reconsider his opinion on the matter. Although it made sense, the worst things he had seen Malfoy do were under threats to his and his family’s safety—and even then he hadn't confirmed Harry’s identity that day at the Manor—so what was the point in assuming he was just waiting for an opportunity to do harm?

“But I’ll be with you the whole time, so it’s not like you’ll have the chance anyway.” They both knew that was a lie; Malfoy could manipulate the item’s behaviour in a nefarious way right in front of him and easily disguise it as something else. By saying that, Harry was desperately trying to cover his earlier, unexpected expression of trust. However, Malfoy chose not to comment on it, much to Harry’s relief. Fortunately for him, he also managed to avoid blurting out that it didn’t matter anyway, since the item would be examined by an expert regardless.

“Fine, I’ll go and see the item with you. I don’t want another breakfast interrupted by this. Wait for me to get ready.” He quickly stepped back inside, closing the door with more force than necessary.

They spent most of the walk to Fernando’s house in silence, only discussing directions. Every now and then, Harry cast a nervous glance at Malfoy, catching sight of him out of the corner of his eye. Since the moment he’d seen Malfoy yesterday, a few questions had been persistently nagging at him, and now he worried that if the silence stretched on much longer, he might blurt them all out. The loudest of them being What does it feel to just… disappear and leave everything behind?

Finally, they arrived at the house. It was situated on a similar stretch of land to Malfoy’s, but it was definitely bigger and appeared more ancient, even though it was in great condition. They stepped inside, and Harry guided Malfoy to a spacious living room. There, on a mostly empty shelf, lay the little wolf carving. They approached it with care.

“Do you sense anything wrong with it?” Malfoy didn’t answer and moved closer to the item, seemingly mesmerised by it, wanting to examine it more closely.

“Fernando said the seller gave him instructions to set it up, but since the seller was an intermediary and not your father, we don’t know if there might have been a misunderstanding or if some step in the setup process was forgotten.” As Harry finished speaking, he watched Malfoy carefully study the wooden wolf.

“I think I remember the incantation to reveal the item’s last instructions; my father told me about it, but it may not work since I’ve never performed it before.” Malfoy looked at him with questioning eyes, waiting for Harry’s opinion before attempting to cast the spell.

“How risky is it if you perform it incorrectly?”

“In theory, nothing should happen if I don’t perform it correctly, since it’s just a command for the item to provide information—it doesn’t do anything else. But since the item may be misbehaving…” The last sentence hung in the air, its implications filling the space between them.

“I’ll set up protective barriers just in case, for us and for the rest of the living room.”

Once he finished the preparations, he turned to Malfoy, who had continued to inspect the wolf carving in the meantime, and spoke. “We’re ready”

Malfoy took a deep breath and said something in a low voice, probably trying the pronunciation first. Then he spoke clearly and with determination.

“Planus seirch.” As he spoke, he traced a circle over the item with his wand—Harry hadn’t noticed when he took it out, but he did see that it wasn’t the wand he knew; he was using a different one.

There was a reaction; the little wolf moved its head to look at them. It was sitting up, and its mouth began to move, speaking in a voice that didn’t sound quite human.

“Gafelu-” Suddenly, the wolf stopped mid-word and stood up. It remained still for a moment before starting to howl. At that moment, an expansive shock wave, which originated from the wolf and radiated outward, hit them. It didn’t seem to harm them or any other objects in the house, but they felt that something was different.

“Are you harmed?” Harry asked, genuine worry permeating his words.

“No, I don’t think that was a curse or anything like that.” But it had been something, the air around them felt different, the magic too. Malfoy seemed focused on something.

“I think it has altered the magic of the house.” He turned and began walking back to the door; Harry followed him.

“Where are you going?”

“I want to check something outside.” Malfoy replied as he reached the door first, placing his hand on the knob. He paused. When Harry joined him a few seconds later, Malfoy still hadn’t opened the door.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked, noticing the concern etched on Malfoy’s face.

“The knob won’t move.” Harry tried it himself; it was true—it didn’t budge.

A moment of silence passed, both of them baffled by the door's refusal to open. Malfoy cast a spell at it. “Aberto.” He tried the knob again, but with the same result. Harry followed suit with another spell.

“Alohomora.” They checked again, but it failed too. They went through every spell they could think of (holding off on destructive ones for the time being), and even tried physically pulling and pushing the door. In the end, neither the knob nor the door had moved an inch.

“Let's try it with the windows.” Malfoy suggested. But Harry had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t work either. They tried anyway, with the expected outcome.

“I'll send a Patronus to Nora. She can summon a team and get us out without damaging the property.” He focused on a happy memory—a carefree day spent at an amusement park with Ron and Hermione, the first time for both him and Ron. “Expecto Patronum” The stag appeared, ready to carry his message. It went to pass through the door, but bounced off. It tried twice more, with the same result.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to resort to more drastic means of escape.” Harry was surprised that Malfoy seemed genuinely regretful, casting an apologetic glance at the door. “What should we try first?”

“Reducto.” Harry suggested. Malfoy nodded in approval, and Harry cast the spell at the door. Nothing. The spell left his wand and appeared to hit its target, but there was no effect.

“It's like there's a barrier preventing any magic from affecting the door, the windows—maybe even all the exterior walls.” Malfoy said, his expression turning thoughtful.

“I don't understand what happened. The command you used seemed to work at first, so why—”

“That's it!” Malfoy interrupted, his eyes lighting up with sudden clarity. “The item must’ve interpreted the command as hostile, like we were trying to tamper with it. That triggered a lockdown.

That's why the magic of the house feels different now. But it shouldn't have reacted like that—it was just an informational command, and we didn’t break into the house or do any harm to it. It doesn’t make sense.”

Harry wasn’t entirely convinced. “Are you sure you didn’t just make a mistake, say the wrong command or something?”

Malfoy shot him an annoyed look. “If I wasn't sure it was the right command, I wouldn't have tried it. Do you really think so little of me that I’d take that kind of risk on a vague memory?” His tone had grown sharp, and he quickly turned away before continuing, more composed. “Whatever. We need to focus on getting out of here. Anything else is a waste of time.” Harry agreed with that, though he didn’t say it out loud.

An hour later, they were forced to admit defeat. Nothing they tried to either escape the house, or send a message outside, had worked. Worse still, with Nora not due back until the following evening, no one would notice Harry’s absence until then, meaning no help would be on its way either.

They were trapped.

After exhausting every method of escape, Harry and Malfoy stood in the centre of the living room, staring at each other in shared frustration. The tension between them, which had been simmering since their awkward reunion, now bubbled more strongly. Harry didn't know what to say; it was one thing to be forced to work together and quite another to be stuck in a magically sealed house with no idea when they’d be released. The silence stretched on until it became unbearable, both waiting for the other to break it.

Harry decided to speak first, though his tone was a bit sharper than intended. “This is ridiculous. There must be something we haven’t thought of.”

“Clearly, we’ve thought of everything,” Malfoy shot back, not missing a beat. His voice carried that familiar sneer, though it was tinged with weariness. “It’s the house’s magic. Unless you have a miracle tucked up your sleeve, we’re stuck until someone else notices we’re missing.”

Harry huffed, rubbing his temples. “Great. Just bloody great.”

They both sank into armchairs on opposite sides of the room, and for a moment, it seemed as though they might settle into an uneasy silence again. But then, Malfoy spoke in a softer, less confrontational voice.

“Must be strange for you, not being able to send out a Patronus.” He glanced at Harry, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “I’d thought the famous Harry Potter could summon help even in the worst situations.”

Harry scowled at him, though it lacked any real heat. “Yeah, well, the famous Harry Potter would rather be anywhere else but here right now.”

“Likewise.” Malfoy muttered. He shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable for a moment, as if debating whether to say something more. Finally, he sighed and leaned back. “But since we’re stuck here... we might as well try to pass the time without killing each other.”

Harry couldn’t resist a small chuckle, though the laugh was more out of exasperation than humour. “Yeah. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?”

They lapsed into another silence, but this time it wasn’t as hostile. Harry found himself watching Malfoy closely. Despite the year that had passed since the war, he still hadn’t fully come to terms with the idea of Malfoy being anything other than the arrogant, sneering git he’d known at school. Yet, here he was—sitting across from him, in an old Spanish house, looking far less like the boy who had tormented him for years.

Without fully thinking it through, Harry blurted out the question that had been gnawing at him since their conversation outside Malfoy’s house. “What does it feel like to just… disappear and leave everything behind?”

The question hung in the air between them, and Malfoy looked up sharply, clearly surprised by Harry’s sudden inquiry. For a moment, it seemed like he might not answer. But then something in his expression softened, and he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees.

“At first… it feels like freedom.” His voice was quiet, and his gaze flicked down to his hands, as if he was speaking more to himself than to Harry. “Like you’ve finally escaped everything that was dragging you down. The expectations, the family name, all of it. But then…” He trailed off, his lips pressing into a thin line before continuing. “But then, you start to realise that you can’t really leave everything behind. The past follows you, no matter where you go.”

Harry watched him closely, feeling a strange twist in his chest. He hadn’t expected Malfoy to be so honest. Vulnerable, even. It was unsettling, in a way he didn’t fully understand. “I never thought about it like that,” he admitted quietly. “I guess I always thought… you know, that you just wanted to run away from it all. Forget it happened.”

Malfoy let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “There’s no forgetting, Potter. Not for me. Not for you either, I imagine.”

Harry nodded slowly, his mind drifting back to the war, to all the things he’d lost—and the things he could never forget. It was strange, realising that they shared that burden. For all their differences, they had both been shaped by the same terrible events. For the first time, Harry felt a flicker of understanding, as if he could finally see beyond the surface of the boy he had once hated.

The silence between them now felt heavier, charged with unspoken thoughts. Harry shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say next. But before he could find the words, Malfoy spoke again, this time with a hint of his usual haughtiness returning.

“Since we’re stuck here, we might as well eat. Earlier I saw that there’s a magical pantry in the kitchen, so there should be food in good condition—unless you want to wait until we waste away.” He smirked slightly, standing up and heading toward the kitchen.

Harry rolled his eyes but followed. The pantry was stocked with preserved food, all neatly arranged, and though the ingredients weren’t luxurious, there was enough to put together a decent lunch. They worked together in relative silence, chopping vegetables and heating some sort of stew in a cauldron.

As they sat down to eat, the conversation picked up again, but it was laced with more tension this time. Malfoy took a bite of the stew, and his face twisted slightly in displeasure. “This is… rather bland. It’s edible, I suppose, but nothing like what we had at the Manor. Although lately I—”

“Not everything can be up to your high standards, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted, his tone sharper than intended. His mood had soured instantly, the reminder of Malfoy’s privileged upbringing striking a nerve.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his grey eyes narrowing. “It’s not about standards, Potter. It’s about having basic taste.”

Harry’s frustration bubbled over. “You mean the basic taste of having rich parents, don't you? Merlin forbid anything in life isn’t perfect for Draco Malfoy. You’re still the same spoiled git you were back at Hogwarts.”

Malfoy’s expression darkened. “And you’re still the self-righteous hero who thinks the world owes you something because you defeated Voldemort.”

Harry stood up, his fists clenched at his sides, anger coursing through him. “You have no idea what I’ve been through—what it’s like to live with that.”

Malfoy stood too, stepping closer, his voice low but heated. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to live with something? To have the weight of the world on your shoulders, constantly judged for things you couldn’t control?”

They were standing close now, too close, the tension between them shifting, turning into something Harry couldn’t quite define. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath coming faster. Malfoy’s eyes were locked onto his and Harry couldn’t look away.

He felt something unfamiliar stirring inside him—an intensity that made his skin tingle, his mind racing. It was confusing, unsettling, and yet… he didn’t step back.

Malfoy’s voice dropped, barely more than a whisper now. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, Potter.”

Harry swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His mind was a whirlwind of confusion, and for the first time, he found himself wondering if this feeling—this strange, undeniable pull—was something more than just anger. But before he could explore it further, a surge of irritation rose at Malfoy’s words, and he felt compelled to respond. In a low, firm voice, he said, “Neither do you.”

Breaking eye contact, Harry turned away, moving to examine a bookshelf overflowing with books along the far wall of the living room. He needed a break from interacting with Malfoy.

Twenty minutes later, he was seated in an armchair, reading one of the only books in English he could find—Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland. Apparently, Fernando had a great fascination with dragons; Harry had spotted several books with “dragón” and "dragones" in the title, which he assumed was the Spanish for dragon and dragons. He was in the middle of reading a section entitled ‘Debunking myths about the Welsh Green’ when he heard Malfoy get up and leave the room. Harry sighed and closed the book, that was the end of his break from Malfoy. He stood up, intent on catching up with Malfoy and not letting him out of his sight for a moment longer. He would say he was doing it to fulfil Nora's expectations that he would keep an eye on Malfoy in the house, but in truth, it came naturally to him, after all, that was a habit he hadn't quite lost yet.

As Harry wandered down the dimly lit hallway, he found Malfoy standing in front of an antique-looking cabinet. The wooden piece was intricately carved with swirling patterns and symbols Harry didn’t recognise, likely remnants of some ancient Spanish magic. Malfoy was examining one of the items inside—a crystal ball with swirling colours that shifted in the low light, casting shades of blue and silver onto his pale skin.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, stepping closer.

Malfoy glanced at him briefly, his expression unreadable. “It’s a bola de la percepción.” He replied, quietly. “A Spanish divination tool. Some wizards here still use them instead of crystal balls. It shows flashes of possible futures, but only if you ask the right questions.”

Harry studied the orb, intrigued. “Have you ever tried using one?”

Malfoy shrugged, his fingers gently brushing the smooth surface of the orb. “Not really my thing, Potter. I’ve never liked seeing the future… too unpredictable.”

There was a pause as they both stared at the orb, its shifting colours casting a soft light on their faces. Harry felt a question bubbling inside him; he glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye and decided to voice it.

“Yesterday, you said you needed a fresh start. But why here? Why in Guadalajara?”

Malfoy stilled, his hand lingering on the orb for a moment before he withdrew it. His expression tightened, but when he spoke, his tone was measured. “After the war, I wanted out of Britain. Too many people knew me, judged me. I couldn’t stand it, all those expectations hanging over me. My father wanted me to stay in the family business, marry some wealthy pure-blood heiress, but I—” He hesitated, then shook his head. “I wasn’t interested in the life he had planned for me.”

Harry caught the slight edge in his voice and sensed there was more to the story. “So you left?”

“Not right away,” Malfoy admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. “But soon after my house arrest ended, my father and I had a fight. A big one. It got so bad that I decided to leave, and I haven’t been back since.” He didn’t elaborate on the fight, and Harry didn’t press, but he noted the bitterness underlying Malfoy’s words.

“You live here alone?” Harry asked, surprised. He couldn’t picture Malfoy without the backdrop of his imposing family home, surrounded by the weight of his parents’ legacy.

Malfoy nodded. “Yeah. No family. No friends. Just me. Since my seventeenth birthday I’ve had sole control of my personal vault. It's not much, but here I found a house I could afford to rent, and I have enough to sustain me for a while. But I didn’t choose this city just for the house; the magical community here is small but welcoming, and no one has an opinion of me based on my name—good or bad. They have to get to know me first.”

There was something in his tone that made Harry pause. He realised now how much he had taken for granted—the notion of Malfoy always surrounded by wealth and privilege, never imagining he might have chosen a life away from it all instead.

They fell into silence again, and Harry felt an unexpected wave of sympathy. He understood that feeling—the need to escape the weight of the past, the expectations of everyone around you. He had felt it too, after the war.

After a while, they decided to explore more of the house. They wandered through several rooms, most filled with antiques and old magical objects, until they stumbled upon a small, tucked-away room at the back. It was cosy, with a low ceiling, a warm fire crackling in the corner, and a small wooden table with a few magical board games scattered on top.

Malfoy smirked as he eyed the games. “Well, it seems Fernando has a penchant for old magical entertainment. What do you say, Potter? Fancy a game?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not? We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

They settled onto the narrow sofa beside the table, barely enough room for the two of them. Malfoy picked up one of the board games—a magical chess set. As they played, their arms and knees brushed against each other from time to time, and the close proximity made Harry acutely aware of Malfoy in a way he hadn’t been before. The warmth of Malfoy’s leg pressed against his, the occasional brush of his arm—it sent a strange jolt through Harry, one he wasn’t sure how to handle.

He found himself sneaking glances at Malfoy, noticing the fine lines of his jaw, the way his hair fell slightly into his eyes, and how his expression shifted from concentration to amusement. It was disconcerting how different Malfoy seemed now—more relaxed, more… human. Harry had never seen him like this before, and it made him feel oddly unsettled.

As the game continued, the tension between them subtly built with each accidental touch. Harry’s heart raced, though he tried to focus on the board. But Malfoy was sharp and clever, and by the end of the game, he had completely outmanoeuvred Harry.

“Checkmate!” Malfoy declared, a smug grin spreading across his face, his eyes gleaming with victory.

Harry blinked, startled out of his thoughts. He stared at the board in disbelief, then up at Malfoy, who was now leaning back with a rare, genuine smile. For a moment, Harry couldn’t look away. That smile—it wasn’t the familiar smirk but something softer, warmer. It caught him off guard, stirring a strange pull in his chest, an unfamiliar desire to be closer to Malfoy that both surprised and confused him.

He swallowed, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingered as they sat there, side by side on the sofa, the fire casting a warm glow over them. The game was forgotten now, and after a long pause, Malfoy turned to him, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“So, Potter,” he began, leaning back against the cushions, “why are you really working as an international Auror? Why leave England, your fame, your recognition, your friends… your Weasley girlfriend?”

Harry hesitated, feeling a flicker of discomfort at the question. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s not like that; it’s just an internship,” he said quietly. “But it’s true that I’m… I’m fed up with all of it. The fame, the expectations. People constantly looking at me like I’m supposed to be some kind of hero. I never wanted that.” He paused to take a deep breath. “And my friends, I will always be by their side. No matter the circumstances or the distance, we’ll manage either way.”

Malfoy watched him closely, his expression unreadable. “And what about the Weasley girl? You two still together?”

Harry shook his head, sighing. “Not exactly. We… We went our separate ways. After the war, things were good at first, but I started feeling… trapped. Like I was just going through the motions. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine.”

He glanced at Malfoy, his expression softening slightly. “It all got too much around the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. I told her I needed some time—to figure things out. Not just about our relationship, but about everything. So… here I am.”

Malfoy nodded, his gaze thoughtful. “I can relate,” he said after a moment. “I felt trapped too, but in a different way. The pressure from my family, the expectations to live a certain life. I hated it.”

Harry was surprised by how much he and Malfoy had in common, despite their vastly different lives. They sat in silence for a while, the weight of their shared burdens hanging between them. The tension simmering beneath the surface grew stronger, more palpable, and Harry found himself glancing at Malfoy again, his heart racing.

He didn’t understand why he felt this strange, undeniable pull towards Malfoy. But it was there, and growing harder to ignore.

Feeling slightly intoxicated by the openness they were sharing, Harry dared to ask another question. “What about your friends? I heard some Slytherins moved abroad too. Why not live closer to one of them?” The question seemed to cast a shadow over Malfoy's face.

“There weren’t many people I could consider friends after the war, and there are reasons I don’t keep in touch with the few I did. Pansy is the exception, but she hasn’t moved out of the country yet. We do owl each other, though.”

Harry felt a twinge of guilt for prying but thought it might help Malfoy to voice these thoughts. “What are those reasons?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he met Malfoy's gaze.

“It’s… Among pure-blooded witches and wizards, maintaining the bloodline comes first. It supersedes personal wishes. As long as you marry and fulfil your duties, some... eccentricities are tolerated, in private.” Harry looked at him, confused, struggling to grasp what he meant. “That’s not what I wanted. I’m tired of pretending, tired of hiding who I am to fit what others want me to be. I’m—” His voice grew frantic with each word until he suddenly stopped. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m gay.”

This revelation shocked Harry. He had never, during their time at Hogwarts, imagined this to be the case. Not that he had spent much time considering his classmates' sexualities—or even his own; he had always had so much more on his mind. His face must have betrayed his surprise because Malfoy added, “I see you didn’t expect that. Or… please tell me you’re not about to say it’s disgusting or something.”

Malfoy’s mix of indignation and dismay prompted Harry to reassure him. “No, no. I was just… surprised. Did anyone ever say that?”

“No, well… almost none of them.” Malfoy looked away for a moment before continuing. “But as I said earlier, most pure-bloods tolerate eccentricities as long as you play your part. And I’m the Malfoy heir—an only son. I must marry a pure-blood witch from a good family and produce an heir. That’s what everyone told me. Not Pansy, though; she knows that’s not what I want, and she supports me.”

Harry didn’t like Pansy much, but he realised her support would be important to Malfoy. “I’m glad she does,” he said. Malfoy seemed surprised by this, leaning a bit closer, the movement reminding Harry that their legs were pressed together. Their faces were quite close now, and Malfoy regarded him with newfound interest.

Harry realised he had been locked onto Malfoy’s gaze since his last words, and the seconds passed in an electric silence. A flush of embarrassment crept into his cheeks, and just as he lowered his gaze, he caught Malfoy running the tip of his tongue across his lip. It was a fleeting moment, but it left Harry wide-eyed in awe. He quickly schooled his features, wondering what was wrong with him and his reactions over the past couple of days.

“Have you ever… mused about such topics?” Malfoy’s question caught him off guard.

“Sorry, what?” Harry shot him a panicked look. “What topics?”

“You know, attraction, love, sexuality…” Harry was speechless—not only because he hadn’t mused much about them, but also because Malfoy had lowered his voice on that last word, sending a jolt of arousal through him.

“Has the mouse got your tongue, Potter?” Malfoy said with a cheeky grin, finally prompting a response from Harry.

“No, and, well… I’ve thought about it a normal amount. I know I like women, so I haven’t had much more to muse about.” At the look of confusion on Malfoy’s face, Harry felt a flicker of alarm. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You do know it’s not necessarily one or the other, right?” Harry, very much, did not know that. He felt as if a rug had been pulled from beneath him.

“You mean you can be attracted to everything?” Saying he was baffled would have been an understatement.

“Yes, yes, you can.” Their eyes locked, and Harry felt like a live wire. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it would be like to kiss another bloke?”

“I… No, not before… now.” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, leaning in a fraction closer, his arm brushing against Harry’s.

“Do you want to know?” Harry could no longer deny it; this was getting to him. He wanted to say yes, but this wasn’t just any bloke—this was Malfoy. Even if his perception of him was starting to shift, he couldn’t just kiss him.

“No, I don’t.” The words escaped him quietly, lacking conviction, yet he said them nonetheless.

For a fleeting moment, Harry caught a glimpse of hurt in Malfoy’s eyes before he masked it. Malfoy pointedly looked at Harry's crotch and said, “That’s not what your body seems to think. But whatever, I suppose a former Death Eater isn’t good enough for the saviour of the wizarding world.” He stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving Harry confused and with a hard on.

His thoughts spiralled. He had just realised he could be attracted to men, and that included Malfoy, who had essentially just offered to kiss him. It was all too bewildering.

He sifted through his memories, searching for any evidence of attraction to boys. He recalled thinking Cedric was handsome, but at the time that felt like an objective observation—merely a sign of having working eyes. He never glanced at other boys when they were changing, always making an effort to look away, to avoid seeing anything at all. He began to wonder if that meant something, too. Had he gone to great lengths to ignore something he didn’t want to confront? Then he tried to recall if there was a particular boy he had ever treated differently or might have been attracted to. Ron was out of the question—he felt like a brother. He mentally reviewed his roommates, dismissing them one by one.

As he continued sifting through the names of Gryffindors he knew, a noise from another part of the house brought Malfoy back to his mind. He couldn’t help but reconsider the way he’d treated Malfoy over the years, especially in sixth year. While he had been proven right in the end, the obsession he had tried so hard to deny to Ron and Hermione took on a new significance now. Had he been attracted to Malfoy without realising it? That possibility overwhelmed him, and he decided he didn’t want to think about it any longer. He got up and headed to the kitchen, intending to make some dinner.

By the time he was finishing, Malfoy entered the kitchen. “Do you require assistance?” he asked, his tone cold and his expression deadpan.

Harry looked up from the pan he was stirring, momentarily unsettled by Malfoy's cold tone. It felt like the warmth and openness they had shared earlier had evaporated, leaving behind an icy chill between them. He wanted to say something—anything—to restore the atmosphere from just an hour ago, but the right words eluded him. Instead, he shook his head.

“No, I’ve got it.”

Malfoy remained rigid, his movements stiff as he crossed to the other side of the kitchen to set the table. Harry could feel the tension radiating from him, the silence stretching taut between them. It felt unfair, this sudden frost that had settled over their interaction. Yes, he had refused the kiss, but it wasn’t because he thought Malfoy was beneath him; it was simply that Harry was struggling to wrap his mind around everything that had just come to light.

He didn’t know how to express that. How could he explain to Malfoy that his rejection wasn’t personal, but a reflection of Harry’s own confusion?

The clinking of plates as Malfoy set them down pulled Harry from his thoughts. He turned off the stove and brought the food over, placing it between them. As they sat down, the atmosphere grew even more stifling. Harry felt a pressing need to break the silence, to cut through the tension with something—anything—but every word that came to mind felt too raw, too personal.

They ate in silence for a few moments, and Harry couldn't take it anymore. He glanced up at Malfoy, frustration bubbling inside him.

“This is ridiculous,” he said suddenly, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. Malfoy looked up, his expression carefully neutral.

“What is?”

“This—this cold shoulder thing you’re doing. It’s not fair.”

Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “Not fair? You made your feelings quite clear, Potter. I’m merely adjusting to them.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “You think I rejected you because I think I’m better than you? That’s not what happened, and you know it.”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed with something unreadable. “Oh, really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks exactly like that. The golden boy, too good to even consider someone like me.”

“That’s not it!” Harry nearly slammed his fork down in frustration. “You don’t understand, Malfoy. I’m still trying to figure things out. I—” He faltered, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ve never thought about blokes that way before. And suddenly I’m… feeling things I don’t understand. It’s all new, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

Malfoy stared at him, his expression softening slightly, though his tone remained sharp. “So, I’m supposed to just wait around while you decide whether or not you’re disgusted by the idea of kissing me?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s not about disgust. It’s just—” He exhaled sharply. “I’ve spent years seeing you as my rival, someone I couldn’t trust. And now, all of a sudden, everything’s changing, and I’m still trying to make sense of it. I don’t know how to see you any differently, at least not yet.”

The vulnerability in his voice must have caught Malfoy off guard because his expression shifted, the mask of cold indifference slipping slightly.

“And what exactly is changing, Potter? What are you trying to make sense of?”

Harry swallowed, feeling cornered by the question. He didn’t have a clear answer; his mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions—attraction, confusion, frustration—and none of it made sense.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I don’t know how I feel about anything right now.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if searching Harry’s face for some hidden truth. “You’ve never had trouble knowing how you feel about me before. You hated me for years.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “Maybe I didn’t hate you as much as I thought I did.”

Malfoy’s gaze snapped to his, a strong emotion flickering in his eyes. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the weight of Harry’s words hanging heavily between them. The tension that had simmered all evening boiled over, and Malfoy stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“This is pointless,” he muttered, turning away as if to leave the kitchen.

“No, it’s not,” Harry said firmly, rising as well. His voice grew louder, more frustrated. “You don’t get to just walk away from this. You think I’m the one acting high and mighty? You’re the one being unfair—always assuming the worst of me, always thinking I’m out to humiliate you.”

Malfoy whipped around, eyes blazing. “Can you blame me? After everything you did in school—constantly watching me, trying to catch me out, like you were always waiting for me to mess up.”

“I was watching you,” Harry shot back, the words coming out sharper than he intended. “Because you were up to something. You were working with Death Eaters!”

“And you never stopped to consider why I was doing it!” Malfoy’s voice cracked with emotion, his pale face flushed. “You had no idea what I was going through, what my family was enduring. You only ever saw what you wanted to see—some spoiled Slytherin who you thought deserved to be brought down.”

Harry felt his chest tighten, guilt pressing down on him. He had never paused to think about what Malfoy might have been facing. So consumed by his own fear and anger, he hadn’t considered how scared Malfoy might have been.

“You’re right,” Harry said quietly, his voice raw. “I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what it was like for you back then, and I didn’t care enough to find out.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened slightly, as if surprised by Harry’s admission. For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the silence filled only by the sound of their breathing.

“I was scared, Potter,” Malfoy finally said, his voice shaking slightly. “I had no choice but to do what I did. And you… you just made it worse.”

Harry felt a lump rise in his throat as he took in the vulnerability in Malfoy’s voice. “I didn’t know,” he said, his voice low. “I didn’t think about it from your perspective.”

For a moment, it looked like Malfoy might say something more, but he simply shook his head, the tension slowly draining from his body. He sat back down, his face a mask of exhaustion. Harry followed suit, feeling equally drained from the confrontation.

After a long silence, Malfoy spoke again, his voice softer now. “So, what do we do now?”

Harry hesitated, unsure how to respond. His mind was still racing from the argument, and the unresolved tension between them felt even more palpable now that raw emotions had surfaced.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to leave things like this.”

Malfoy glanced at him, something gentler in his gaze now. “Neither do I.”

The vulnerability between them lingered, and Harry felt a warmth growing in his chest, different from the earlier frustration and confusion. It was quieter, steadier—a sense of understanding passing between them.

The silence stretched on until Malfoy broke it with a sigh. “It’s still too early to sleep. We need to do something, or we’ll both go mad.”

Harry nodded, relieved by the change in tone, and they both walked to the living room. “Agreed. Any suggestions?”

Malfoy considered for a moment before a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes. “How about a game?” They both settled down on the sofa.

“A game?” Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “What kind of game?”

Malfoy smirked, that familiar cocky expression returning. “A personal one. Something to pass the time and… help us get to know each other a little better.”

Harry hesitated, sensing the undertones in Malfoy’s words. “Like what?”

“Oh, you know,” Malfoy said casually, leaning back in his chair. “Questions. We take turns asking. But no backing out—you have to answer honestly. The more personal, the better.”

Harry’s stomach twisted with anticipation. He could already sense where this was headed, but he found himself unable to resist. Something about the idea of pushing the boundaries between them, of seeing where this game might lead, was too tempting.

“Fine,” Harry said, attempting to sound nonchalant. “But you go first.”

Malfoy’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Alright, Potter. Let’s start simple. Have you ever had a crush on someone you were too afraid to admit it to?”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Yeah. I guess I have.”

Malfoy’s smirk deepened, clearly enjoying Harry’s discomfort. “Interesting. Your turn.”

Harry swallowed, trying to think of something that would push Malfoy without revealing too much of himself. “Have you ever kissed someone and regretted it?”

Malfoy’s gaze darkened, his smirk fading slightly. He held Harry’s gaze for a moment before answering. “Yes.”

As the game continued, Harry became increasingly aware of Malfoy’s presence. The sharp curve of his jaw, the way his pale fingers drummed against the coffee table as he pondered his next question, the subtle warmth radiating from him as they sat close together—it was dizzying. Every small movement or glance sent a current through Harry’s body. He wasn’t just aware of Malfoy anymore; he was drawn to him.

Now that he had accepted his physical attraction to Malfoy, the tension between them felt almost unbearable.

Harry’s mind raced as they continued their game, the questions becoming more intimate. At first, they kept it relatively tame—discussing past relationships, moments of regret, fleeting crushes—but the undercurrent of desire thickened with every answer and shared glance.

Malfoy’s next question jolted Harry from his thoughts. “Have you ever thought about kissing someone… knowing you shouldn’t?”

Harry swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. The truth was, at that moment, he was thinking about kissing someone he probably shouldn’t. His gaze flicked to Malfoy’s lips, then back up to meet his eyes. The charged silence that followed made Harry’s heart race.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly, struggling to tear his gaze away from Malfoy’s. Malfoy’s smirk softened into something more genuine, his eyes gleaming with interest. “I thought so,” he murmured, leaning back slightly, as if inviting Harry to elaborate.

But Harry could no longer focus on the game. His mind was consumed by the ache of wanting something that felt tantalisingly close yet frustratingly out of reach. His thoughts swirled, and before he knew it, the words tumbled out of his mouth.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Malfoy froze for a split second, clearly taken aback by Harry’s bluntness. His grey eyes locked onto Harry’s, and in the silence that followed, Harry’s heart raced. He had no idea how Malfoy would respond—whether he’d laugh it off, refuse, or mock him for even asking after what happened earlier. Instead, Malfoy’s expression shifted, a slow, dangerous smile curving his lips.

“Why do you ask, Potter? Do you want me to?”

Harry’s mouth went dry. He couldn’t back down now, not after coming this far. He nodded, unable to trust his voice.

Malfoy’s smile widened, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He shifted closer, their knees brushing again, and Harry felt his breath hitch. The air between them crackled with anticipation, and when Malfoy finally leaned in, Harry felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him.

Malfoy’s lips were soft, tentative at first, but the moment Harry responded, everything shifted. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more consuming. Harry’s hands found their way to Malfoy’s shoulders, pulling him closer, and Malfoy responded by threading his fingers into Harry’s hair, tugging just enough to send another shiver of arousal through him. The heat between them built quickly, the world outside of their connection fading as they lost themselves in the kiss.

It was intoxicating, more intense than anything Harry had ever experienced. The sensation of Malfoy’s body so close to his, the taste of him—it all overwhelmed Harry’s senses, filling him with a desire he didn’t know how to control.

After what felt like an eternity, they pulled apart, both breathing heavily. Malfoy’s eyes were darker than Harry had ever seen them, filled with a mix of satisfaction and something else—something deeper.

“So,” Malfoy whispered, his voice low and almost teasing, “are you sure now?”

Harry’s pulse was still racing, his mind reeling from the kiss. But there was no doubt left in him. He nodded, his voice steady as he replied, “Yes. I’m sure.”

Malfoy smiled, something genuine and warm in his expression, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them finally easing into something softer.

After a few moments, Malfoy glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late,” he said quietly. “We should probably find somewhere to sleep.”

Harry nodded, reluctantly pulling himself back into reality. They both stood, still feeling the electric charge of what had just happened between them. As they wandered through the house, looking for a place to sleep, Harry’s mind raced, trying to process everything. It felt surreal, the way things had shifted between them, the way he had just kissed Malfoy—and enjoyed it. But he couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt, the weight that had lifted from his chest now that he had finally admitted what he was feeling.

Eventually, they found two rooms—a large master bedroom with an enormous bed, and a smaller one with two single beds. They stood in the hallway, glancing at the two doors, the unspoken question hanging between them.

Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… I suppose we could sleep in different rooms,” he said, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Malfoy’s eyes flickered toward the master bedroom, then back to the smaller room. After a brief pause, he shrugged. “The smaller room should be fine. Unless you’d rather have the big one to yourself?”

Harry shook his head quickly. “No, the smaller room’s fine.”

They entered the smaller room, each choosing one of the single beds. The room was cosy, the beds close enough that they could still talk comfortably. Harry sat on the edge of his bed, glancing at Malfoy, who was lounging on his, arms folded behind his head.

For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the earlier tension replaced by a more comfortable quiet. Harry wasn’t sure if he should say something, or if there was even anything left to say. But after a few moments, Malfoy spoke up.

“You know, Potter,” Malfoy said, his voice soft but teasing, “you’re full of surprises.”

Harry smiled slightly, lying back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. “You’re not exactly predictable yourself, Malfoy.”

Malfoy chuckled softly. “Fair enough.”

The conversation drifted into more casual topics—old memories from Hogwarts, some of the stranger experiences they’d both had, and even a few shared laughs over how ridiculous some of their past rivalries seemed in hindsight. It was easy, surprisingly so, and Harry found himself enjoying it. The vulnerability they had shared earlier had shifted into something lighter, but it was still there, a thread of understanding that now connected them in a way that felt entirely new.

Eventually, their voices grew quieter, the long day catching up with them both. Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was already half-asleep, his face relaxed in a way Harry rarely saw. A strange warmth settled in Harry’s chest as he watched him, a quiet contentment that was different from the thrill he had felt earlier.

For the first time in a long while, Harry felt he didn’t have to figure everything out right away. He could take his time—figure out what all of this meant, slowly—but for now, he was at peace with where they were.

With that thought, he drifted off to sleep, the sound of Malfoy’s steady breathing the last thing he heard before everything faded away.

The next morning, Harry awoke to the smell of coffee. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked at the sunlight streaming through the window. For a moment, he lay still, trying to piece together everything that had happened the previous day—the strange magic that seemed to envelop the house, the kiss, the quiet conversations, and how everything felt different now with Malfoy.

When he finally pulled himself out of bed and made his way to the kitchen, he found Malfoy already there, brewing coffee and toasting bread. It was strange to see him like this—so domestic and relaxed—but it was oddly natural too. Malfoy glanced up as Harry entered, and for a brief moment, Harry wasn’t sure what to expect. But Malfoy simply offered a small nod, as if what had transpired the night before didn’t warrant any awkwardness.

“Morning, Potter,” Malfoy said, his tone casual but not unfriendly.

“Morning,” Harry replied.

As Malfoy handed him a cup of coffee, their fingers brushed, and Harry felt that familiar pull—this strange, undeniable attraction he still didn’t quite know how to navigate. There was still a slight tension between them—probably lingering from the kiss—but it felt more exciting than uncomfortable. In fact, part of Harry was eager to see where things might go from there.

“Any change in the magic?” Harry asked, trying to distract himself as he took a sip of the steaming drink.

“No,” Draco replied, shaking his head. “It’s still as thick as ever. We’re not getting out of here until your partner’s back.”

They both took a seat at the small wooden table. As they ate breakfast, their conversation started off light—small talk about the weather and Malfoy’s success in finding decent coffee in the cupboard. They didn’t mention the kiss, and Harry didn’t bring it up. Instead, they allowed the morning to pass with an easy familiarity.

After breakfast, they decided to look for some books to pass the time, among the few that were in English. Harry picked up one that caught his eye, flipping through pages filled with magical theories on house wards and enchantments, hoping it might offer some insight into their current situation. Meanwhile, Malfoy settled into a chair with an old potions text. It was quiet, even peaceful, as they read, occasionally exchanging brief comments about the strange spells and theories detailed in the books.

After a while, the quiet was broken when Malfoy closed his book and glanced over at Harry. “Fancy a game of chess? We still have some time to kill before lunch.”

Harry looked up from the page he had been skimming and nodded. “Sure. But don’t expect me to let you win this time.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see about that.”

They set up the chessboard on the small coffee table in the living room, and Harry quickly found himself focusing on the game. He had played countless matches with Ron over the years, and though Malfoy had beaten him the day before, Harry was determined to turn the tables today.

The match was intense, both of them focused as they moved their pieces with precision. Harry could feel Malfoy’s gaze on him at times, and he couldn’t resist glancing back, the closeness between them adding an extra layer of tension to the game. But this time, Harry was a step ahead. He played strategically, recalling the many times Ron had bested him and using that knowledge to his advantage.

“You’re taking this seriously,” Draco remarked as Harry moved his queen into a strategic position.

“Maybe I just don’t like losing,” Harry shot back with a smirk.

Draco chuckled, but the game soon grew intense, both of them absorbed in their moves. Finally, after several rounds of careful play, Harry cornered Draco’s king. He smirked, relishing the rare moment of victory.

“Checkmate.”

Malfoy stared at the board, his eyes narrowing as he replayed the last few moves in his mind. Then, to Harry’s surprise, Malfoy broke into a grin, his competitive edge giving way to genuine appreciation.

“Well played, Potter,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll give you this one.”

Harry chuckled. “About time.”

They shared a laugh, and the mood between them felt lighter, more comfortable. The competitive tension from the game had melted away, replaced by something softer—an ease that neither of them seemed to be questioning anymore.

As noon approached, they headed back to the kitchen to prepare lunch, chatting and sharing stories from their time at Hogwarts. Harry felt that they were no longer just rivals, nor awkward strangers navigating a new attraction. They were… something else. And that something was starting to feel good.

Just as they were about to begin preparing lunch, a frantic knock at the door startled them both. They exchanged a glance, confusion flickering in Harry’s eyes. Who could it be? It was too soon for Nora to have arrived. He made his way to the front door, Malfoy trailing behind him. As he drew closer, he was surprised to hear Nora’s voice, muffled through the door. "Harry? Harry, are you there?"

“We’re here, Malfoy and I, but we’re trapped inside the house.”

"Harry! I sent you a Patronus earlier, but when you didn’t respond, I got worried and came back as soon as I could," she said, her voice laced with concern. “Are you both all right?”

“We’re fine,” he called back. “But we’re stuck. The house went into some kind of magical lockdown after we tried using one of the commands on the item yesterday. We can’t get out, so we’re lucky you’re back early.” Nora moved to the window next to the door so they could see each other’s faces while speaking.

“That’s why I sent you the Patronus; I needed to warn you. I spoke to an expert on Spanish magical houses, and I found out something important.”

“Warn us?” Malfoy asked, his brow furrowing.

Nora nodded, her expression serious. “Yes. The expert believes that the object is reacting unpredictably to British witches and wizards.”

Harry frowned, confused. “Why would it do that? It was surrounded by them for most of its existence.”

“That’s exactly the problem. The magic in Spanish houses differs from that in British houses,” Nora explained, her tone careful as she laid out the details. “It’s different enough that the item may have struggled to function properly here. It tried its best to adapt to the incompatibilities, but that made it extremely sensitive to British magic. When it encounters a British witch or wizard, a conflict arises that the item struggles to process. It was more or less managing until it came into contact with the victim, a witch from England, and became overwhelmed. The expert believes that’s why it reacted the way it did; it may have misinterpreted something she did as a threat and reacted strongly due to that sensitivity.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Malfoy, who seemed to be following the explanation closely.

“So you’re saying,” Malfoy said slowly, “that our presence here reactivated that same conflict?”

Nora nodded. “Exactly. The item perceives your presence as a magical threat, even if you’re not doing anything overtly dangerous. I thought it best to warn you and ensure you were aware. But it seems you’ve already had the pleasure of experiencing the effects.” She sighed, a hint of guilt in her expression. “This is a tricky situation, but I’ve already contacted a team of magical experts. They’re on their way, and I’m sure they’ll be able to get you out.”

“Thanks for coming back early,” Harry said, meeting Nora’s gaze through the glass.

“Of course,” she replied. “Just stay where you are, and don’t use any more magic until they arrive. It’s the best way to reduce the odds of triggering another reaction. Although, given that you managed to trigger a lockdown, that may have played in your favour in that regard.”

Harry nodded. “Thanks for letting us know.”

Nora smiled, though concern still lingered in her eyes. “Of course.”

Harry stepped back as Nora turned to leave, presumably to wait for the experts to arrive. As she disappeared from view, Harry exhaled deeply. The tension of the lockdown still clung to him, but the knowledge that help was on the way offered some relief. Malfoy, unusually quiet during the conversation, crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

"Well, at least we know what's going on now," Malfoy said, his voice calm yet tinged with frustration. "It's almost amusing, really. Of all the things that could trap us, it’s a British magical object confused by a bit of Spanish magic."

Harry managed a half-smile. "I’d take this over a Death Eater ambush any day."

Malfoy chuckled dryly, the sound somehow lightening the atmosphere between them. They had faced far worse situations before, but this shared predicament felt different—more personal, perhaps. More intimate.

As they returned to the kitchen, Harry became increasingly aware of Malfoy’s presence. Ever since that kiss, an undercurrent of awareness had settled between them, like an unspoken truth waiting to be acknowledged.

They busied themselves preparing lunch, but Harry’s mind wandered. The more he thought about it, the more the idea took root: he didn’t want this strange connection to fizzle out once they were free from the house. It felt too soon to leave things unresolved. Part of him was curious to explore where this might lead. He glanced at Malfoy, observing how he moved around the kitchen, his expression focused yet softened by the quiet light of midday.

Suddenly, an uninvited thought struck him: What if I asked him out? The notion startled him. Harry, asking Draco Malfoy out on a date? Yet, there was no denying that something had shifted between them. They had both changed so much, and the distance from their old rivalries felt immense—almost like a different lifetime.

Hesitating, he found his voice. "You know," Harry began, tentatively testing the waters, "once we’re out of here… maybe we should go out for a drink? To celebrate finally regaining our freedom."

Draco turned, surprise flashing in his pale eyes before a slow, curious smile emerged. “A drink?”

Harry shrugged, trying to sound casual despite the fluttering tension in his chest. “Yeah. There’s a pub we passed yesterday that looked promising. I’d like to check it out tonight, if you’re interested.”

Draco studied him, the silence stretching. Harry wondered if he’d been too forward, but then Draco nodded, an amused glint in his eyes. “Why not? I think we’ve earned a drink after all this.”

Harry grinned, relief washing over him as the tension eased. It was a small victory, but it felt monumental. They had plans for later—something beyond the confines of this house. Something that might mark the beginning of something new.

As they continued preparing lunch, the atmosphere became more comfortable, and Harry’s thoughts turned inward. He mulled over the past few days, the whirlwind of emotions, and the changes he felt within himself. Spain had offered him a strange sense of escape but also confusion. Why had he wanted to leave England in the first place? There had been a nagging dissatisfaction, a sense of not knowing who he truly was or what he wanted after the war. He had thrown himself into Auror training, into doing the right thing, but he hadn’t taken the time to understand his own needs.

And now, here was Draco Malfoy—someone intricately linked to his past, yet so distant from his present—standing in this kitchen with him, sharing this bizarre experience. The kiss replayed in his mind, not just the physical act but the vulnerability behind it. There was something raw there, something real that Harry hadn’t expected to find in Draco.

They sat down to eat lunch, conversation flowing more easily now, and at some point, Harry realised he had been mentally referring to Malfoy by his first name for a while now. It felt strange yet natural. Before he could overthink it, the words slipped out.

"Draco—" Harry began, and both of them froze.

He blinked, and Draco looked at him, slightly startled by the sudden shift in tone. Harry cleared his throat, heat creeping to his cheeks. “I mean… I suppose it doesn’t make sense for us to keep using last names after everything we’ve been through, does it?”

Draco’s expression softened, his posture relaxing. “No, I suppose not,” he agreed, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Harry.”

Hearing his name on Draco’s lips felt oddly intimate, a reminder of how far they had come from their days of mutual hostility. Harry smiled, the weight between them shifting again—lighter yet charged with something deeper.

As they finished their meal, Harry found his thoughts drifting back to why he had come to Spain in the first place. He had sought a break from life in England, from the suffocating expectations and endless questions about his future. For years, he had been defined by the war, by his role as the Chosen One, and now, in peacetime, he wasn’t sure who he was meant to be.

But something about being here, with Draco, felt like a step toward understanding himself. Perhaps everything that had happened in Spain—this strange, unexpected connection with Draco and the newfound insights about himself—was a sign. A sign that things were changing.

Looking out the window, Harry watched as the bright Spanish sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the kitchen. A sense of hope bloomed in his chest, fragile yet real. Maybe this was the beginning of something new—something he hadn’t anticipated but welcomed nonetheless.

As the day wore on, and the experts arrived to work on freeing them from the lockdown, Harry found himself wondering what the night might bring.