Archive of Our Own

The first time he sees Potter after the war, he has his head buried in between the she-Weasel’s legs. She’s arching her back and moaning furiously, pulling at Potter’s curls.

“Salazar—”

The redhead gasps, not caring about being interrupted mid-intercourse. Potter stumbles back, falling back on his arse. He opens his mouth.

“Shit, listen, Malfoy—”

“Oh Merlin. Oh Merlin. This is not happening.” He did not survive the war to die of anaphylactic shock, even if seeing Weasleys’ pubic hair is as traumatic as the Dark Lord’s cruciatus. “That’s it. I’m blind. I’m getting my eyeballs removed.” He makes a retching motion. “Merlin and Morgana. Why on earth did you not lock the bloody door?”

“We did,” Potter says.

Draco ignores him. “This is disgusting. Even worse than the time I caught Pansy giving head to her upstairs neighbor, and believe me, that was bad. Ugh.” He massages his eyelids, hoping that will make the picture go away. “I’ll have to sue for emotional damage, Potter.” 

“You unlocked the door. It was closed for a fucking reason.”

“It’s a public bathroom! Would you rather I pissed on the floor?!”

“Jesus.” Potter sighs. “Look Malfoy, I’m sorry you had to see that, but you’re being a prat.”

Draco’s eyes fly open, and he immediately regrets it. The moron’s hair is a mess, and his lips are wet with saliva. “A prat?” Draco croaks. They’re also very red, and very swollen. “I’ve just watched the female version of your retarded side-kick have an orgasm, and I’m being a prat?! Do you even understand the damage you’ve inflicted?”

Potter scowls, and Draco’s semi goes fully hard. “Don’t call him that,” he grits out. 

The Weaslette lets out an amused mumble. “Your retarded sidekick, that’s gold.”

Draco looks at Potter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can call him however I damn well please. You tried to deprive me of a basic human right, then traumatized me with your display of public indecency, and now you’re trying to act like the offended party?”

Potter takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Malfoy—”

“I’ll be on my deathbed, and the memory of the Wizarding World’s two biggest whores going at it will still haunt me. If I want to call Ronald Weasley retarded, you can bet your Golden Arse I will, you moron. It’d be the least offensive thing happening this evening.”

“Damn,” one of the whores in question interrupts. “Was he always this whiny?” 

Draco’s head whips to the side. Her cheeks are flushed, and there’s a laziness to her that only comes after a thoroughly good shag. “Were you always this loose?” He hisses. “Were Cormac and Thomas not enough to fill your blood traitor c—”

The second time Draco sees Potter after the war, he’s coming out of St. Mungo’s bathroom. He stops short when he sees him. “Oh. You’re still here.”

“Of course I’m still here, you imbecile, you broke my bloody nose,” Draco snaps, as if the red-soaked tissue holding his hemorrhage at bay wasn't clue enough. 

“Shouldn’t they have fixed it by now, though? Madame Pomfrey would’ve done it in seconds.”

“They’re understaffed,” Draco grumbles. “There’s been a flu breakout, apparently.” He forgets to add that the majority of the hospital’s staff hates him on principle. 

Potter sits besides him, slumping in the chair. “What a fucking night.” A defeated sigh leaves his lips. 

Draco shares the sentiment. He doesn’t say it aloud, though. “You’re not the one that was brutally assaulted, Potter. If anyone has a right to complain, it’s me.”

Potter snorts. “You deserved that.”

Draco swallows the part of himself that wants to preen for eliciting that reaction out of him. Fourth year Draco would’ve wanked himself raw to the memory. “Debatable.”

They stay in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Finally, he asks. “Why are you still here, scarhead? Haven’t anywhere else to be?” Not that he minds, but it’s interesting that the Golden Boy would rather spend his Friday night in the most uncomfortable chairs known to wizardkind than on his own bed. And Draco’s always been interested in all things Potter, unfortunately.

“Don’t let it get to your head, Malfoy. I just really like the smell of antiseptic and death.” 

And isn’t that funny, the Gryffindor does have a sense of humor.

“I bet Granger told you not to leave until they healed me. Cover all your bases.”

Potter doesn’t deny it, turning his head towards him and smirking. Draco’s thankful he came in his pants earlier that night, or else he’d have a bit of a problem. “Well, she is my lawyer.”

“Smart woman. I would’ve wiped you clean,” he hums. “Malfoys love a good lawsuit.”

Potter barks out a laugh. It’s deep and throaty, almost like a motorcycle’s rumble. Draco suddenly remembers having read that Potter owns one, and that he takes it out to Muggle London more often than not. 

He shivers.

“Pretty weird to hear you praise Hermione, though. In Hogwarts you would’ve swallowed your tongue before admitting she was smart.”

Draco’s interrupted mid-fantasy. “Mmm, what?” The blurry picture of Potter hoisting Draco’s naked arse up his bike seat fades away. 

“Hermione, you called her smart.”

He quickly catches on to the topic of the conversation, and a knot of anxiety forms in his stomach. “Well, she is. Everyone with eyes can see that,” Draco scoffs. “I’m not so prejudiced as to deny it.”

Potter makes a non-committal sound.

“What?” Draco asks, trying not to betray his nervousness.

“Nothing.” He absently looks over the entrance hall, tapping his jeans with his index fingers. Draco narrows his eyes, hoping to find what’s so bloody interesting about it. “You were pretty rude to Ginny back there. You not only called her a slut, but a blood traitor too. It’s pretty in character for you. Hogwarts you, I mean. I guess I find the whole reformed Draco Malfoy hard to believe.”

Draco cheeks go red. “I didn’t call her a slut.” Not aloud, anyways.

“You implied it.”

“I can’t be held accountable for what I say when I’m surprised.” He licks his dry lips, thinking of a way to salvage the situation. “I’m told I can be very rude.” That’s partially true, though his nastiest, most verbose self only comes out when he’s near Potter.

The man doesn’t answer.

“I didn’t mean it. That part, at least. Longbottom wouldn’t have invited me to join you for drinks if I was still the same.”

Green eyes observe him carefully. “I’m not sure if I buy it.”

Draco closes his eyes, and hopes his ancestors aren’t observing him from the afterlife. “I’ll apologize to her.”

He can hear Abraxas Malfoy’s outraged gasp. Apologize to a Weasley? Are you out of your mind, boy?

“Will you?” Potter’s scrutiny is intense, like everything else about him. Draco remembers with vivid intensity why he spent most of his teenage years going out of his way to get his attention. Even as a fifteen year old, there was an unnerving quality about Potter that made interacting with him addicting and nerve-wracking in equal parts.

“Yes. Yes, I will.”

“Mmm.” Potter looks away, and Draco sags in his seat. His heart is beating erratically. 

They don’t say anything else for another minute.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to hear it from her.”

“From Ginevra?”

Potter nods, standing up. The chair's squeaky protest echoes in the empty room. “Yes. I’ll go get us a doctor, yeah?”

Draco’s nose starts hurting again at the reminder. “Good luck with that.” At this rate he’ll probably have to call one of the Manor’s elves to heal him.

“Hey, don’t look so glum,” Potter says. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Savior of the Wizarding World. People tend to listen to me.” His grin is blinding. 

Draco swallows.

“Yes. Yes, alright.”

***

The third time Draco sees Potter after the war he’s inhaling a line of white powder off a blonde girl’s stomach.

All the blood drains from his face. “What in Merlin’s name is he doing?” he half-whispers. He’s pretty sure that’s some kind of muggle drug.

Weasley spits an impressive string of curses. “For fuck’s sake mate, it’s fucking Thursday.”

Potter looks up, eyes lighting up when he sees the redhead. “Ron! Mate, c'mere!” He waves his hand with a fair share of enthusiasm, but doesn’t try to get up from where he’s seated on the floor. 

Weasley closes his eyes and groans. “We have a team meeting tomorrow with Robards, Harry.” 

Longbottom pats his back sympathetically. 

The blonde, which Draco now recognizes as Luna Lovegood, sits up. “Don’t worry Ron, he’ll be fine by morning. Harry has an incredibly fast metabolism,” she says fondly, patting his hand. Potter smiles. He looks high as a kite.

“Jesus,” Ron says. Draco is distracted by his choice of words. Jesus. What a funny curse name, he thinks. “As long as Mione doesn’t see you.”

Pansy shifts beside him, looking uncomfortable. Her mascara is starting to run because of the heat, smudging at the corner of her eye. She leans over to whisper at Longbottom. “I’m sorry, is this a normal occurrence?”

The man looks at her funny. Draco moves closer to intervene, lest he thinks Pansy just called Potter an addict. “We mean, is this a group tradition of some sorts?” Pansy and him look at each other. “We’re not very used to…” He trails off, not knowing how to continue. 

“The consumption of strange substances,” Pansy finishes for him. They nod in unison. Maybe, in another life, one where they weren’t so closely watched by their parents and later become the de facto teenage Death Eaters, they would’ve gotten the chance to explore. As it is, the strongest thing they’ve had is Theo’s dad’s elf wine.

“Oh,” Longbottom says. His eyes soften. “No, not really. Just Harry actually. He’s—” He looks over to where Weasley and Potter are talking. He grimaces. “He’s not really himself, at the moment.”

Or the last two years, if the tabloids are to be believed. 

The music coming out from the speakers travels through the walls, making the ground vibrate from underneath him. He feels drunk already.

Lovegood appears behind Longbottom, scaring them half to death. Draco clutches Pansy’s hand, feeling his heartbeat jump to his throat. “I smoke pot from time to time,” she says, like it’s a normal way to contribute to a conversation. Longbottom starts coughing violently, the back of his neck going red. 

Everyone knows he grows weed for his girlfriend.

“I don’t like coke though,” Loony continues. “That’s solely Harry’s thing.”

Pansy nose scrunches. “Coke? Isn’t that some kind of muggle drink?”

Draco’s chest swells with pride at his friend’s knowledge. They’ve come really far, the two of them. “Yes, yes it is,” he confirms, nodding.

Longbottom clears his throat. “Yes. Mmm, that’s also the name of the drug. The muggle drug.”

“The white thing?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

They fall quiet. Draco distinguishes the silhouette of two men making out in the back of the room. He squints, trying to figure out if they really are Thomas and Finnigan or if his eyes are playing tricks on him.

“Well, that certainly explains how he’s passed the Auror’s anti-doping tests so far,” Pansy muses. 

Longbottom chokes on his drink. 

Overall, it’s a great night.

***

The next time Draco sees Potter, he actually talks to him.

“Hey!” the idiot shouts, occupying the empty seat beside him.

Draco winces, dragging his eyes off Pansy, who’s sitting suspiciously close to Weasley. 

Potter looks great, unfortunately. His hair is a lot shorter than the last time he saw him, giving him a more strict air. Draco wonders how it looks paired with his Auror uniform, and quickly forces himself to stop that line of thought.

“Hello Potter. You’re sitting in Finch-Fletchley’s chair.”

Potter immediately scowls. “He’s here? I can’t stand that guy.”

Draco snorts his drink, thrown off by the hatred in Potter’s voice. He grabs a napkin from the center of the table, quickly dabbing his blouse. “Merlin. Wine is very difficult to wash away.” 

“Even with cleaning spells?”

“Yes, Potter,” he says, in the same tone one speaks to a particularly dense child. “Even with cleaning spells.”

Potter doesn’t answer, and when he looks up, Draco finds him looking transfixed by the skin showing through his collarbone. 

“Potter?”

He meets his eyes again. His pupils cover most of his green irises. “Don’t get bratty with me, Malfoy. We both know you don’t mean it.”

Draco’s hands falter, freezing in the air. The napkin slips out from his fingers. 

Oh, Merlin.

Granger’s voice floats near the two of them, congratulating Abbott on her second pregnancy— unaware that her best friend is being horribly violated in Draco's head. 

Potter’s lips twitch, amused. He leans closer to him. “You have very pretty clothes, by the way.” His breath ghosts Draco’s chin.

“You’re in my seat, Potter.”

The tension breaks, and they both turn their heads to look at Finch-Fletchley, who’s standing in front of them with two beers in his hands. 

Draco sighs.

“Piss off, Finch. There are more seats on the table,” Potter says, jerking his chin towards them. Draco notices that there’s in fact, not a single chair left. 

“Umm—”

“It’s Finch-Fletchley, Potter,” the guy says through gritted teeth. “How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

“As many times as I fucking need, arsehole,” he snaps, clenching his fists. Potter looks like he’s two seconds away from breaking his nose. 

Finch-Fletchley fingers tighten around his drink.

Weasley materializes behind them, making Potter jump. “Justin, mate, how nice to see you!” he says cheerfully. 

“Ron. Hello,” Finch-Fletchley answers, looking between Potter and him with suspicion.

Weasley puts each hand on his friend’s shoulders, squeezing. The man scowls, but the maniac glint in his eyes goes away. He slumps in his chair, annoyed. 

Draco hears Granger’s imperceptible sigh of relief. 

“I heard you didn’t have anywhere to sit, mate,” Weasley continues.

“Actually, it was Potter who—”

“Great! Anyways, you can take my chair. I need to talk with Harry here for a minute,” he says, winking.

Draco catches Pansy’s eyes, who looks very unhappy with the change of seat arrangements. He arches his eyebrow, trying to communicate his thoughts.

Whore!

Pansy blushes. 

“I don’t really want to talk right now, Ron,” Potter starts, before Weasley’s unnerving blue eyes land on him.

“Not a suggestion!” he sings-songs, patting Potter’s back with a little more force than necessary. 

“Uff, Ron, ” Potter breathes out.

Weasley pays him no mind, taking confident strides towards the exit. They disappear behind the Leaky’s new glass doors, which gives Draco the perfect view of the two. 

Merlin, when did Weasley get hot?

Pansy plops in the chair beside him, rummaging through her purse. 

“Ugh, I can’t stand Finch-Fletchley,” she says, taking out her signature red lipstick and the small compact mirror Draco gave her for her twenty first birthday. She reapplies it with a precision that only comes with many years of practice. “He always stares at my tits.”

“Funny, Potter said the same thing.” Draco doesn’t take his eyes off the pair, feeling too curious for his own good. Weasley has started yelling at Potter, who’s scuffing his shoes on the ground and resolutely not looking at him. He wonders if an eavesdropping spell would work from this distance. 

“Finch-Fletchley stares at Potter’s tits?” 

“No, you bint. Potter can’t stand Finch-Fletchley. I don’t know why there’s so much bad blood between them, though.” He taps his fingers on the table. “For all I know, they haven’t seen each other since Hogwarts.” 

“That’s not true, actually,” Pansy says, looking pleased at herself for being ahead of the gossip mill. Draco rolls his eyes. “He’s an Auror. He started out last year apparently, after Parvati dumped his arse.” He nods. (Parvati was way too pretty for him.) “Ron told me they’d been having a lot of issues with him at the office. He’s a tosser, to no one’s surprise.”

“Ron?!” He turns towards her so fast it’s a surprise his neck doesn’t snap. “Ron?!

She pauses, eyes widening. “Well.” 

“Pansy, you slut.”

She leans forwards, burying her black nails in Draco’s leg. “Oh shut it,” she hisses. “Don’t give me that look. He asked me to call him that.”

“And you just did?”

“Of course! I couldn’t seem rude, could I? That would’ve reflected badly on you.” You moron, he hears at the end.

Conniving little bitch. “Save it,” he says. “You couldn’t care less about me and whether the Gryffindors like or not.”

“Of course I care, dear! You think it’s nice to hear you moaning about how much you want to get in Potter’s pants?” She taps his legs. “It’s starting to get on my nerves.”

Draco blushes to the root of his hair. He gets even closer to Pansy, their noses almost touching. “I don’t want to fuck Potter, you dirty-minded harpy,” he hisses.

“Oh, I know you don’t.” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes. 

Draco ignores the insinuation. “I don’t! I want to be his friend! Do you have any idea how good it’d be for me to be friends with The Boy Who Lived?”

“Mmmm.” She wipes his saliva off her chin. 

Draco can hear her skepticism, and he hates her for distracting him so efficiently. Unfortunately, he can’t go back to the Weasley thing before clearing the air.

“Really!” he insists. Pansy starts leaning back, but Draco claws his nails in her forearms, dragging her forward.

“Ouch!”

“Our friendship wasn’t meant to happen back when we were kids…”

“I see your propensity towards ignoring your own flaws is still going strong.”

“…but now, we’re very different people!”

“You’re going to leave marks, by the way. Wanker.”

“Bitch. Anyways, he’s grown a lot, Potter has. He seems like a very sensible man. Plus, as I said before, his fame would be extremely beneficial.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And well, I’m delightful to be around! What’s there not to like?”

“Don’t get me started, Draco, I swear,” she says, showing the tiny, half-moon marks in her arms. 

Draco rolls his eyes. “I just think it could be a symbiotic, fulfilling exchange for everyone involved.”

“I know about a thing that wants to be filled, alright.” She makes an obscene gesture.

“Agh,” he shouts, pulling out his hair. “You’re impossible!” 

Pansy’s cackles bounce against the walls. 

Some of the people sitting near look their way. Thankfully Granger is not there, and Weasley is still scolding Potter. 

“Look,” Draco continues, after casting a muffliato. “I don’t care if you think I’m dying to shag his bones. It doesn’t change the fact that being close to him would benefit us. Both of us.” He puts emphasis on that last part.

“If you want to sell it that way, fine,” Pansy huffs, crossing her arms. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt.”

“It doesn’t. That’s the whole fucking point!” His voice has gone shrill again. He hears his father’s admonishment. Malfoy men don’t shriek like prepubescent girls, Draco, he used to say. He almost misses him. “I just need you to remember that creating a rift between Potter's two longest friends won’t endear ourselves to him.” 

(Plus, he actually likes Granger, though he’ll never admit it aloud.)

“You really overestimate my seduction skills, love.”

“Pansy!” His patience finally reaches its limit. “You either keep your legs shut, or you find yourself another redhead!” 

Despite the muffliato distorting his words, everyone hears him shout. Terry Boot looks their way again, eyes lingering in the space between them. He can see the disdain in the pinch of his brows. 

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He cancels the spell. “Mind your own business, Terry,” Draco snarls. 

“Bloody Death Eaters.” The Ravenclaw practically spits the words out. “You have some nerve, showing up here and acting like you’re our fucking best friends. Do you have no shame?”

The comment grates. “I’d never pretend to be your friend. Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“You’re disgusting, Malfoy. Everyone can see through your bullshit.”

Pansy smiles, showing her canines. They look blindingly white against her red lips. “Shut it, Boot, or I’ll tell your girlfriend how much you’re not disgusted by Death Eaters, you fucking hypocrite.” 

The man flushes, comprehension flashing in his eyes. 

Draco arches an eyebrow, asking for an explanation.

“He offered me ten galleons for a blowjob last month, at Lovegood's birthday party,” says Pansy. 

Draco throws back his head and laughs, amused despite himself. 

“Lower your fucking voice, Parkinson.” Boot looks Bones’ way, checking to see if she heard anything. He redirects all his self-righteous anger at her. “No one will believe you, so you can drop it. I don’t want to cause a scene.”

“Oh, but I believe them,” Longbottom says out of nowhere, eyes dancing with mischief. He has to lean forward to join the conversation, but he makes his voice loud enough. “You’re a lousy drunk, mate. By midnight half the party knew you had the hots for Parkinson, and by the time you left, everyone knew she’d hexed your arse to Mars.”

Pansy chuckles, surprised. “Salazar himself, would you look at that?”

“You,” Boot wheezes out, sending a betrayed look Longbottom’s way. “I can’t—” His neck has also gone very red. “I can’t believe this. I thought better of you, Neville, I really did.”

Longbottom snorts, and Draco’s respect for him grows considerably. “Same thing, mate. Susan’s my friend too, you know? You’re a shitty boyfriend, and she deserves better.”

Boot doesn’t know what to reply. He quickly stands up and goes to whisper something in Bones’ ear, probably telling her they should go home. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eye. 

Self-important prick. 

“Good grief,” Longbottom mumbles. Pansy and him echo the sentiment. 

“Damn, Longbottom. I didn’t know you had it in you,” Pansy says, after a moment. She sounds mildly impressed, which is impressive in itself. 

The man shrugs. “You don't know many things about me, Parkinson.” His eyes slip towards Draco. “And neither does Malfoy.”

Draco pales. The easy atmosphere disappears in seconds. 

“I—”

“You were ten times worse in school, but I guess I never got the chance to answer back. Not before it stopped mattering, anyways.” Longbottom’s smile is self-deprecating. 

Pansy’s face goes blank. 

“I didn’t defend you because I like you. Either of you. I just hate bullies.”

Every comment they made about Longbottom comes to the forefront of his mind. Whether it was about his pudgy face, shy nature, or mediocre performance in class, it all blurs together. 

“Longbottom—”

It wasn’t like messing with Potter or Weasley, who always gave back as good as they got. Not even like messing with Granger, who was never left alone to fend for herself despite her own fiery temper. 

No, bullying Longbottom was a sport. The Slytherins wanted blood, and he was the perfect target. 

He licks his lips, picturing Potter’s face. There’s a loud buzz in his ears. I just find the whole reformed Draco Malfoy thing hard to believe. 

“I’m sorry, Longbottom, I really am. I know it’s not enough, but I—” He closes his eyes. “I was a horrendous little shit, and you didn’t deserve any of what I put you through.”

“Listen,” Longbottom says, leaning forward. His brown eyes watch them carefully. “No need to look so scared. I’m sorry.” Draco would resent the implication, if there wasn’t any truth to it. “I’m not trying to bring up old wounds, though I appreciate your apology. It’s not like that.” He rubs his mouth, staring off at the back of the pub. “I don’t think we’ll ever be something more than casual friends, yeah?”

Draco’s mouth goes dry. Pansy sinks more into herself, clenching her hands in her lap in a way that looks uncomfortably painful.

“But you’ve both been putting in the work, and right now? That’s what we need. The Ministry’s a mess, and I figure, the less tension there’s between us, the better. Then we can focus on the important things.” He takes a gulp of his beer. “Plus, the Malfoys’ donations don’t hurt.”

Silence follows, before a nervous giggle rushes out of Draco’s mouth. Oh dear. He blushes, horrified. 

“And well,” Longbottom continues, looking at Pansy. “Luna adores you. She can’t stop talking about the time you invited her to your family's herpetarium. Hell, that’s probably the reason I invited you to our gatherings in the first place!”

“Luna? You invited us because of Luna?” Pansy blurts out. There’s a bead of sweat in her temple. “Heavens, I guess I should send her a fruit basket or something—” 

They look at each other, and soon they’re both folding over in laughter. 

“Oh Merlin…I can’t believe you took her to see your family’s snakes!”

Pansy giggles. “Can you imagine what would’ve happened if one of them bit her?”

“We would’ve gotten the dementor’s kiss for endangering a national hero!”

Pansy bursts into another fit of laughter. “Not before Longbottom cut off our heads, though.”

The snake slayer himself gives them a minute to get it under control, amused. 

“That’s—” Draco starts, when he finally can speak again. “That’s a very…magnanimous way of seeing things. Very Gryffindor.” 

Pansy chokes.

“Huh. Luna always tells me how much I remind her of Hufflepuffs.” 

“You’re kind, yes,” Pansy says, and he knows how much it pains her—how hard it is to convey her sincerity without sounding sardonic. “So I guess it’s also a bit Hufflepuff. Thank you, Longbottom. Really.” Draco feels incredibly proud of her. 

“Nothing to thank. And please, call me Neville. Both of you. I feel like you’re talking to my grandmother when you say my surname.” 

“Neville,” Draco says, tasting it out in his mouth. 

“Hah!” Pansy exclaims vindictively, and he immediately knows she’s thinking about the Weasley situation.

“We’re not done talking about that,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. He means it. Pansy is not fucking things up for Potter and him. 

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” 

Longbottom grins. “And I really meant it. It was hilarious watching you turn down Terry.”

“Of course it was,” Pansy sniffs. “What did he think? That I’d drop down on my knees to suck his cock? Please. Susan could do so much better than him.” 

“Suck whose cock?”

Draco goes scarlet. Potter looms over them, a cheeky smile on his face. He grips the back of Draco’s chair, thumbs brushing his neck. Weasley stands two feet behind him, questioningly looking between them.

“Terry Boot’s,” he squeaks. 

“You want to suck Boot’s cock?” Potter’s thumb presses over his pulse point. 

He swallows, struggling to form a coherent answer. “Mmm—”

“Ugh, stop being disgusting, Harry, I swear to god.” Weasley pushes Potter away, taking out his wand. “C’mon, help me duplicate some chairs.” 

Potter steps back, shrugging sheepishly. “Yeah, okay.”

Longbottom shakes his head. “Leave the bloke alone, mate. Not everyone wants to sleep with you.”

Pansy licks her lips, and Draco stomps her foot hard enough to crack the Manor’s porcelain tiles. 

“Motherfucker,” she gasps. 

Longbottom eyebrows jump. 

“She’s drunk.” 

“I hate you, Draco, I swear,” she whines, slumping forward and cradling her injured foot in her hands.

Draco’s smile grows strained. “Very drunk.”

“Sure, Malfoy.”

Potter and Weasley sit at each of their sides, thankfully distracting him.

“Huh, where’s Mione?” The redhead scans the pub, searching for his girlfriend. 

There’s still a lot of people around, despite the hour. Soft murmurs and the occasional laugh travel back to their table.

“She went to talk with someone. I think I heard her say the head of International Magic Relationships was here with her girlfriend,” Neville says, grimacing.

“Poor woman.” 

They all nod. Granger can be terrifying when she’s set her mind on something.

“Well.” Weasley lifts his beer. “For Hermione.”

They laugh, lifting their own drinks. “For Hermione.”

Potter catches his eyes mid cheer, a soft look on his face. 

“What?” Draco mouths, curious to know what’s going on inside his head.

Potter just shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing,” he mouths back. He still hasn’t taken his eyes off him.

The tips of Draco’s ears go red, and he looks away before Potter succeeds in melting his brain entirely. 

Damn him. 

He pretends not to see Pansy’s smug face. 

During the following hour, conversation flows, aided by the warm dull of alcohol. It lowers everyone’s inhibitions and loosens up their tongues. Draco discovers that it’s difficult to feel self-conscious when someone’s just snorted Firewhiskey through his nose from laughing so hard. 

He leans back on his chair and sighs. He can’t remember the last time he had such a good time out. Even Potter and Finch-Fletchey seem to have forgotten about their mutual animosity, imagine that! 

(Terry Boot left earlier, thank Merlin. Draco’s not as generous.)

When they’d first started working at the Ministry, Pansy and him clung to each other like a lifeline. It was easy to see that they weren’t liked much, made even more obvious by the presence of numerous war heroes. 

Despite having over seven departments, the Ministry was a small place—not very different from Hogwarts. Everyone grouped together, had lunch together, talked about the same things, and most importantly; they all hated Death Eaters. 

It was exhausting. 

Draco wonders, sometimes, how his life could’ve been if the war hadn’t happened. 

Potter’s eyes find him again. Hullo, he mouths. 

Draco’s lips part. Potter shakes his head, and the curls in the top of his head sway with him. He goes back to his conversation with Weasley. 

Draco has come to find the exercise to be futile.

After a while, Tom the barman comes over the table with another round of drinks. “You’re all staying late?”

Most of them nod, except for Abbott and her husband Miles, who she met as an intern in the DMO. “Sorry, we better get going. Baby’s been alone for a few hours now,” she says, adjusting the bag’s strap over her shoulder. Pregnancy looks good on her. 

“That’s fine.” Tom pats Miles’ back. “Make sure to bring him around sometime!”

“Will do.”

Everyone says their goodbyes. 

Potter stares at their retreating back with something like bewilderment. “God, I can’t believe they’re only 25.”

Weasley nods, putting an arm over Granger’s shoulders, who got back to the table with a satisfied smirk a few minutes ago. “Yeah. They’re admirable, honestly. I can’t imagine having to take care of a baby right now.”

Granger winces. “Yes. That would be unwise.”

“Hey! You wouldn’t do that much better!” Weasley says, offended. 

“I never said I would,” she laughs, tucking a rebellious curl behind her ear. “I’d probably forget to pick them up from daycare or something like that.”

Pansy has a dangerous glint in her eye. Draco straightens, carving a hole in the right side of her face.

Don’t do anything stupid, he practically screams. 

Pansy, sly minx that she is, turns towards Potter instead and smiles.

Shit.

“Potter. What about you? Are you and your ginger girlfriend having babies anytime soon?

Potter’s eyes almost fall out of their sockets. “What?”

“Yes. Are freckled little demons going to run down Hogwarts halls in a few years? Is diaper-changing somewhere in your near future? Mmmm?”

Weasley looks a little green. “Merlin, when did this conversation become about Ginny?”

“Umm, Ginny’s not my girlfriend. I-I’d like to have children with a stable partner, I guess,” Potter stutters, thrown off by the intensity in Pansy’s glare. 

Draco shouts in triumph. Mentally. He mentally shouts in triumph. He’d guessed the both of them weren't together, but it’s nice to hear it confirmed. 

She turns her nose up. “Huh. Is that so?” He could kiss her. 

Potter runs a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. Draco wants to sit on his lap. “Umm, yes?”

“And you don’t have an actual partner, do you? Because Draco told me a very interesting story the other day.”

Weasley starts shaking. He seems to be containing his laughter. Granger rests her chin on her palm, content to watch the interrogation unfold in silence. 

Potter’s face goes through a rollercoaster of emotions, from accusation, betrayal, to annoyance, before finally settling on confusion. “I didn’t cheat on anyone, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Weasley can’t hold his laughter anymore. “Oh mate, all those Prophet front stories are finally catching up to you!” He wheezes. “This is too funny!” 

Potter scowls. 

“Even the Slytherins find it bad. The Slytherins!”

Draco forces himself not to smile.

“Malfoy caught me with your sister, so shut it, arsehole,” Potter fires back.

Weasley sobers up immediately, scrunching up his nose in disgust. 

Longbottom snorts. 

“Harry is very loyal,” Lovegood says, a dreamy look on her face. “He’s just looking for the right person. Once he does, he’ll do everything in his power to make sure his partner feels loved and secure in their relationship.” Granger nods enthusiastically. “Isn’t that lovely, Draco?”

The whole table quiets down. Draco feels as all the blood on his face drains. “I’m sorry, what?”

Lovegood smiles. “I said, isn’t it lovely that Harry’s so loyal?”

“I guess so?” he squeaks. 

Granger opens her mouth, and Draco realizes with startling clarity that she’s dangerous. Very dangerous. “Draco, weren’t you complaining about how difficult it is to find faithful partners when you came by the office the other day?”

“You speak with Granger on a regular basis?” Pansy asks, mouth dropped open. There’s a silver of accusation in her voice. 

Potter’s head swivels his way. “You go to Hermione’s office to talk?” 

“S-Salazar, there’s no need to shout,” Draco splutters, aware that neither of them did. “I-I.” He closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Granger and I talk from time to time, yes.” 

When he opens them again he sees the woman’s devious smile. “He first came to see me about six months ago. He knocked on my office door and told me he’d been reading a book named 10 Great Muggleborns and Their Impact on History, and said that he’d be happy to lend me a copy.”

“Merlin, that’s such a Malfoy thing to do,” Weasley chuckles. 

Draco flushes from head to toe. 

“Oh, darling,” says Luna, tilting her head to the side. “It’s also incredibly pretentious, isn’t it?”

Granger laughs and leans against Weasley’s shoulder. He kisses the top of her head, squeezing her even closer to him. Draco feels a pang of jealousy. “It was, but he made up for it. He brought wine the next time, and spent almost two hours hearing me ramble about Wilhem’s new educational degree.”

It was a very nice bottle of wine, mind you.

Potter looks at Granger like she’s just kicked his puppy. “How come I didn’t know about this?”

“Harry,” she says, rolling her eyes. “You fall asleep everytime I talk about anything work-related.”

“Mione! That’s not fair,” he cries, looking around for support. Weasley averts his eyes, and Longbottom starts studying the table’s wood chips like it’s the most fascinating stuff he’s seen in a while. 

Potter scowls. “Alright, whatever. Malfoy’s not work, though.”

“Isn’t he? We usually talk about my cases.” The corner of her lips twitch. 

“What the fuck,” Pansy whispers. Draco nods, feeling dizzy. This is celestial payback for every bad thing he said to Granger at Hogwarts.

“B-but what about that thing you said before? About him looking for loyal blokes or something?”

“I’m sorry, but why are we discussing my very private musings in front of everyone? Have we no other things to talk about?” He looks around the table. “For once, I know that Matilda from Obliviation just left her husband for a Hufflepuff she met at her son’s graduation,” he says smugly.

Pansy’s jaw drops open. “Matilda?!”

Granger waves him away like one waves off an annoying fly. “That was an exception,” she says to Potter. “Draco has very bad taste in men, you see. Brunette, stubborn, and out of reach, usually. If he’s feeling adventurous, he’ll even take the emotionally unstable ones!”

Et tu brute

“Granger,” he hisses, trying to get her attention.

“He needed to vent,” she finishes—putting the nail in the coffin. “But anyways, usually we do talk about work.”

Potter scowl gets even more pronounced. “You still should’ve told me.”

Told you what?! Why the fuck do you care whether I talk to Granger or not? 

Draco feels a wave of nausea. Does Potter still hate him? Does he want him to stay away from his friends?

“You’re not very good at listening once you’ve decided something, Harry.” 

Potter cheeks go red, probably understating the hidden meaning behind her words. Draco hasn’t felt this lost since he kissed the very straight, homosexual-looking bartender in that pub in Soho. 

“Granger!” he shouts, finally getting her to look at him. 

She blinks. “Oh, I’m sorry, Draco.” Her eyes are huge and gullible. “I-I overstepped.”

Draco frowns, though he already knows he’ll milk every last drop of this. He has, at least, a month of free lunches guaranteed. “You did, yes.”

“In her defense, pretty much everyone knows,” Pansy says, looking at her nails. Her shaggy bangs fall over her forehead. “You love complaining about your failed one-night stands.”

“Merlin and Morgana, what is up with you tonight? Did I poison your drinks? Did I flirt with your father?”

“My parents are dead,” Potter says, in a stroke of inspiration.

“I can usually join for a bit of fun at my expense, but this is character assassination!” Draco stands up, accidentally tipping his glass of wine over the table. It spills through the cracks and wets Pansy’s skirt, which is to say, it mostly wets her legs. 

Ha! The harpy had it coming. 

Lovegood extends her hand and brings it back to her lips to taste the wine “This is actually quite good, Draco!” Neville looks at her adoringly. 

Ugh. 

“Alright, I’m going now. I hope you have a horrible day at work tomorrow and that life gives you enough wisdom to realize that picking on the weak is a horrible, horrible thing to do.” He grabs his coat. 

Weasley snorts. Draco glares at him, and he immediately puts his hands up in the air. “What?! You have to admit it’s pretty funny, y’know, considering…”

He huffs, walking towards the exit. He’s had enough. “Alright. Goodbye. I’m leaving. You can owl me the bill.”

“Bye, darling!” Pansy shouts after him. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Surprisingly, Draco doesn’t go back to hex her. His therapist is probably bursting with pride somewhere. 

The air is cold and loud. It howls in his ears the moment he steps foot outside, reminding him that Christmas, and therefore his annual dinner with his father, is very close. 

He curses, taking out his wand and muttering a weak heating charm. He should’ve floo’ed home, but it’s one in the morning and he’d rather walk two miles in the cold than wake up Edith: He’s scared shitless of his neighbor.

Someone shouts, and he tightens his coat around him. He wishes it had a hood he could pull over his head. 

The pavement is damp, the film of water reflecting the streetlights’ white gleam. It probably won’t be long before it rains again.

“Bugger.” He hopes he gets home quickly. 

Draco crosses the road, checking both ways in case there’s still a muggle vehicle circulating at this hour. His feet splash over the puddles of water, socks dampening as he goes. 

“Hey!” The voice gets louder. He turns around, wand in hand. He wishes he hadn’t let Pansy tell him about Jack the Ripper.

“Malfoy, hey!”

Draco recognizes Potter, and a wave of relief so intense crashes into him that he feels his knees buckle. Potter reaches out, steadying him.

“Merlin, you scared the hell out of me! You can’t do that!”

“I’m sorry,” Potter says, breathless from the run. “You wouldn’t stop, though.” He looks Draco up and down. “You have freakishly long legs, you know?” He still hasn’t taken his hand off Draco’s waist.

Draco tilts his chin up, repressing a shiver. “Yes, well, I inherited them from my mother. The Blacks have astonishingly good genetics, despite all the inbreeding.”

“Oh.” Potter looks at loss of words. His fingers burn a hole through Draco’s clothes. “How is Narcissa, by the way?”

“She’s good. She moved to France to tan and sleep with pretty girls. Last time I went, there were two. Adèle and Geraldine.”

Potter goes into a coughing fit. From up close, Draco can see that the tip of his nose has turned pink. He wants to kiss it, and then drop to his knees and see if his cock is as sensitive to the cold. “Sh-she divorced Lucius?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” he scoffs. “Of course she didn’t.”

“Oh,” Potter says again, and they both fall into silence. Draco’s reminded of the night they spent at St. Mungo’s a few weeks ago. 

He steps back, and immediately misses the warmth of Potter’s hand. “What are you doing here, Potter? Came to joke around some more? Because believe me, it wasn’t that funny for me.”

Potter winces, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Hermione shouldn’t have said that. She was an arsehole.” His eyes drop to his lips. “Well, no more than I was, I suppose.” He clears his throat. “It’s just…she had to be very clear, I think, to drive the point home.”

Draco sneers, hackles rising. The nerve of this man. “What point? That I’m blabbering, loveless idiot that can’t go—”

Potter kisses him. 

Every single thought flies out of his head. 

Potter’s hand curls around his waist, pulling them flush together. His grip is tighter than last time, ensuring that Draco can’t shake him off as easily. 

Draco moans, melting into him.

Potter breaks apart just enough to rest his forehead against his. White fog travels out of his mouth every time he exhales. 

Draco stares at him with wide eyes. Potter. Harry Potter just kissed him. Him. Draco Malfoy. “What the hell did you just do?” he asks, voice breaking half-way.

Potter puts his other hand on Draco’s cheek. He flinches, leaning away.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—” Potter is nervous, he realizes suddenly. Draco can’t remember the last time Potter looked nervous. He softens, wrapping his hand around his. 

“No, it’s alright. It’s just really cold.”

“Oh,” Potter says. Some of the nervousness recedes. “Let me.” He whispers the incantation without bothering to take out his wand, and soon the air around them warms up. Show off.

Draco’s shoulders drop, and a full-body shudder travels through him. “That’s…really nice.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. They stand there, in the middle of muggle London, staring at each other. The light of the street lamp casts a soft glow over half of Potter’s face, covering the other in shadows. 

“Ginny told me you apologized to her.”

Draco breathes in, surprised by the change of topic.

“I—” There’s something very earnest in the tilt of Potter’s chin. “Yes. I sent a letter to the Harpies Headquarters.”

Potter nods. “Yes, she showed it to me.”

Draco bites back a noise of annoyance. “Why are you telling me this, then?”

“I don’t know. It was a very nice letter.”

Draco looks away. “I suppose so, yes.” His lips taste like Potter’s Firewhiskey. “I’m a very good writer.”

“Yes, you are.” Potter smiles. “You’re also a pretty decent person. A great person, even.” 

“Am I?” He observes Potter’s face carefully. “Because you seemed very annoyed when Granger mentioned we’d been spending time together.” Draco can’t keep the bitterness off his voice.

Potter’s smile fades. “I’m sorry.” And he does sound regretful. “I was angry that Hermione never mentioned it before, despite all the time I’ve spent talking about you in front of her and Ron.”

Draco’s heart jumps in his chest. “What?” 

Potter chuckles, looking at the floor. “Yes. I’ve been somewhat obsessed with you these past couple of weeks. Months, actually.”

“What? How?” Draco asks, hating how breathless he sounds. “We’ve only seen each other twice. Since the war, I mean.”

“Not true. I saw you at the DMLE’s Halloween party. You looked really pretty,” Potter says, bringing his thumb to the corner of Draco’s eyes. His touch is unbearably soft.

Draco swallows, remembering that night. It was the first time he put on eyeliner. 

“That’s not possible. I would’ve seen you.” He’s always extra alert during these events, aware that Potter is known to go once in a while. 

“I left almost immediately.” A weird expression flashes across his face. “I didn’t feel well.” 

It dawns on Draco, and his stomach drops to the floor. “Oh.” Potter’s sadness is a tangible thing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s not your fault. Halloween has always been a difficult date.”

Draco wants to cry. “Isn’t it? I followed the man that killed your parents. Doesn’t that make me as guilty?”

Potter’s blinks. “What? No! No, of course not.” He grabs Draco’s face with both hands, bringing it an inch away from his. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say, Malfoy. I’ve been a complete wanker.” He presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and Draco sighs, melting. “Since the moment I saw you at the party, I’ve wanted to kiss you silly. You looked beautiful, talking to Parkinson.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me pretty,” Draco says, in a daze. It feels important to point it out.

“What?”

“Why did you want to kiss me?”

Potter throws his head and laughs. “I don’t know. I just did.” He looks at the sky. “And you know what the worst part is? Afterwards, I couldn’t avoid it. Whether you were walking down the hall, or discussing something with Neville, it didn’t matter. I kept wondering how it’d feel to taste you.”

Draco closes his eyes, overwhelmed. Potter cradles his head, curling his fingers around the back of neck. Merlin. 

“I was furious when Neville invited you to our gatherings. It felt like a godly punishment.”

Draco gathers what little courage he has left. “Were you disgusted? Is that it? Did you hate yourself for wanting me?” 

Potter doesn’t answer immediately, thinking it over. Draco wants to cover his ears and delay the inevitable.

“I don’t know. I think it confused me. It was hard to reconcile the version of you that I knew with the present version of you. You acted the same, but it felt completely different, y’know? It weirded me out.” He sighs, running a hand through Draco’s hair. After a few seconds, he says. “You looked very lost, sometimes.”

“Liar,” Draco whispers. It scares him to think that someone could see through him so easily.

“Maybe.” They stay in silence for a few seconds. Draco can hear Potter’s heartbeat in his ear. “Sorry for taking so long to get my head out my arse.”

“To realize I wasn’t an evil mastermind, you mean.” Draco leans back, disentangling himself from Potter. He sees a flash of disappointment in his eyes.

“Yes. I should’ve listened to Ron and Hermione from the beginning.”

Draco hums. “You know, I never thought there would exist a world where Granger and Weasley would speak on my behalf.”

“Weirder things have happened.”

“Doubt it.”

A car drives past them, splashing water as it goes. Had Potter and him been closer to the road, they would’ve ended up soaking wet.

“What changed, Potter? Why now?” A part of him is screaming What are you doing?! Shut up! He finally likes you! but the other part, the part that finally feels like things are getting better, is more cautious. 

“I don’t know. Seeing you with the rest of my friends? Ginny’s letter?” He grabs Draco’s hand. “Breaking your nose? You were pretty decent about it, you know?”

“I deserved it.” And he did. Draco wouldn’t have said those things if he hadn’t been jealous out of his mind.

“You wouldn’t have admitted it ten years ago. So maybe that’s why.”

Draco looks at their joined hands, observing the contrast between Potter’s olive skin and his own pale one. They look nice together. “Potter…”

“Yes?” he answers eagerly.

“I—” Draco remembers all the times his therapist put emphasis on the importance of showing vulnerability when you’re having a difficult conversation. Isn’t it nice, to be really honest for a second? she used to say.  

“It’s not that simple for me. I’m not Weasley, or even a random muggle. If things don’t work out between us, or if you decide you don’t want to date a Death Eater anymore—”

“Former Death Eater.”

“I have much more to lose. It’s not only me, but Pansy too. I can’t risk it.”

What is wrong with you? Are you out of your mind, Draco? The voice in his head sounds very much like hers. 

Shut up, I’m looking out for you, you bint!

“You’re a really good friend,” Potter says, something like admiration in his voice.

Draco wants to hear him say it again. “Hardly,” he scoffs.

“You are!” Potter’s eyes shine with fondness. It’s a look Draco never thought he’d see directed at him. “You love each other fiercely. It reminds me of me, Ron and Hermione.”

“Of Hermione, Ron and me, Potter. Didn’t you have grammar at your muggle school?”

Potter bursts out laughing, his chest rumbling while he does. “Jesus.” It’s not a normal laugh, but a full-body event. Draco has always envied the way Potter seems to experience joy. “I adore you.”

Draco blushes even more. He is sure it’s an ugly sight. “You can’t just say things like that!” he hisses. 

“Why not?”

Because I’ll believe it.

It looks like Potter can read the words straight from his mind. His eyes soften. Guess he’ll have to add Legilimency to his already extensive curriculum, Draco thinks, annoyed. 

“Listen,” Potter starts. “My friends really like you. They ignored me when I first said I didn’t want you to join us,” Draco breathes out, hurt “and if we stop seeing each other, they’ll ignore my whining too. They’d never cared to listen to my every word, despite what you might think.”

Draco watches the small drops of water that have started falling around them. They hit the pavement and paint it with a hundred mismatched dots, increasing in intensity as the seconds pass.

Potter kisses the corner of his mouth, probably sensing his reticence. “They know you’re a good person, and that’s not going to change regardless of what happens between us.”

“And if I hurt you?” His voice is barely audible. He remembers Longbottom’s comments earlier that night 

“Between the two of us, I’m the one most likely to hurt you,” Potter says, a self-deprecating smile on his face. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a bit of a mess.” He sounds more bitter than anyone his age has business doing.

“I reckon, if anyone has a right to be a mess, it’s you.” 

Potter blinks, caught by surprise. “Oh.” His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. From this distance, Draco can see his lashes are starting to get wet. Like everything else about him, they are unreasonably perfect. Thick and black, like a girl’s. Droplets of water cling to the corners, sliding down each time he blinks. “I don’t know if Hermione would agree with you. She thinks I’m throwing away my life.”

Draco laughs. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, but Granger doesn’t know everything.” Potter snorts. “Wizards reach over a hundred years, and we already lived through the worst ones. We have time to spare, believe me.”

“You sound really confident.”

Draco nods. “Of course I am, Potter. We’re only twenty-five!”

Potter leans forward and kisses him again. Draco sighs with pleasure when he opens his lips and slips his tongue inside. It swirls around his mouth, exploring each bump and crevice with his special brand of ferocity. Potter’s fingers curl around Draco’s hips, gripping hard enough to leave a bruise. Draco’s erection throbs, seeking friction. He whines, twisting his hips forward and rubbing it against Potter’s jeans.

“Merlin, I’m going to come in my pants,” Potter gasps, breaking apart.

Draco doesn’t know when his hands wound up in Potter’s hair. He nods. “Yes. Me too.”

They still kiss some more. The rain blurs the edges of the buildings and closed shops, swallowing everything beyond thirty feet away. It creates a false sense of privacy around them that tricks Draco into thinking they are the only people in the world. 

“You know, Potter, I’ve always wanted to try drugs,” he says after a while. 

“You’re not doing drugs.”

“Why on earth not?” he cries. “I’m young and have magic! My body will burn through them in seconds!”

Potter frowns. “You’re not doing drugs, and that’s the end of it.” 

“See if I date you, then, you hypocrite,” Draco grumbles, blushing a second later when he realizes his slip of tongue. 

Potter casts an impervious charm above them, a smile growing on his face. “Is that a yes, then?” 

“A yes to what? You haven’t asked a question, Potter.” 

Potter dries a drop of water off Draco’s cheek, and then grabs his jaw to pepper small kisses over the line where it meets his neck.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He asks, not taking his lips off Draco. “Will you kiss me if we cross paths in the Ministry’s hallways?” He bites his neck and immediately licks it, soothing the sensitive spot. “Will you go to my friends’ parties with me? Will you let me fuck you senseless every night?”

“M-maybe. I have to think about it.” Draco closes his eyes, trying his hardest not to whine again.

Potter hums.

“You’ll need to do certain things, of course. Meet some conditions.”

“Of course.” Potter starts mauling the other side of his neck. “Do tell me.”

“You’ll have to be nice to Pansy, even if she’s being a bitch.”

Potter’s chuckle vibrates against his skin.

“You’ll also need to take me out for dinner at least once a week. To good restaurants. I want people to see us.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you’ll have to make it very clear to everyone you might’ve been involved with that you’re off-limits. This is very important to me, Potter. Completely off-limits.” 

Draco thinks of the Weaslette, and decides to send her a box of chocolates announcing the good news. 

“I can do that, yes.” Potter presses another kiss to his jaw, before straightening up. His smile is brighter than the sun that baths Mother’s room when the clock hits five. “Do you want gifts? Clothes? Brooms? A house?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I have lots of money,” Draco scoffs, insulted. “But I could do with flowers, if you insist. I’ve always liked peonies.” He pictures Potter standing at the entrance of his office with a bouquet big enough to rival the Queen’s.

“What color?”

“I don’t mind, as long as they are peonies. Did you know they symbolize love, wealth and prosperity?”

Potter shakes his head, amused. “No, I didn’t. Fitting, huh?

“Indeed.”

Warm hands lift his blouse and settle on his midriff, covering up as much space as possible. Draco is starting to see Potter has a possessive streak. 

His cock likes it very much. 

“Will you let me take you home, now?” Potter asks.

“I suppose I can.”

He smiles, and they apparate away. 

Later that night Potter leans against the doorway of Draco’s bedroom door, a letter in his hand. “Why did Pansy just send an owl with a note that says: Is his cum as golden as the rest of him?”

Draco sits up so fast the edges of the room blur. “Oh, I’ll kill her.”