Two hours, it turned out, was really not enough time to talk to his best friends and to pack all of the things he needed to be able to live somewhere that wasn’t Grimmauld Place. After an hour and thirty-five minutes of Ron railing about the injustice of Harry having to be partners with Malfoy and Hermione telling him that there had to be a way out of it in the Aurors handbook, Harry finally managed to get out of their flat and back to his home.
He shrunk his dresser and packed it into an overnight bag, then shrunk his wardrobe, hoping it would have enough work clothes in it to get him through the rest of the week. He picked up the Theory of Occlumency book he’d been struggling through off his nightstand along with the murder mystery he’d actually been enjoying.
The bathroom was next, Harry tossed in his toothpaste and toothbrush followed by shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a couple of towels. He cast a tempus charm and saw that he only had 2 minutes until he was supposed to be at the ministry house. “Godric,” he muttered. He sprinted down the stairs toward the living room so he could go through the floo. “Kreacher!” he called.
With a sharp crack of apparation, Kreacher appeared in front of him and Harry had to draw up short so he didn’t bowl the elf over.
“Master Harry?” he asked.
“Sorry, I know this is short notice, but I will only be in and out for the next month. I don’t have time to explain, but I have to live with Malfoy for the next month as part of my duties as an Auror.”
“Should Kreacher come to serve Master Harry and Mister Lucius in their new house?”
“Err,” Harry started when a faint buzzing in his ears started up, “It’s not Lucius, it’s Draco, actually. And no, I think we’ll be okay, but I’ll let you know.”
Kreacher nodded, "A fortunate day indeed,” he muttered. “Kreacher would be most pleased to serve you and the young master Black.”
He didn't really have time to respond to that, so he just shrugged, “Thanks,” Harry sighed as he shifted his bag higher on his shoulder, the buzzing in his ears intensifying. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go.”
Kreacher shooed him and he glanced at the slip of paper with the address he was traveling to before he stepped into the floo to travel there. He all but tripped out of the floo when he arrived, he’d never really managed to get the hang of traveling that way.
“You’re late,” a voice called.
Harry rolled his eyes and followed the sound of that voice into the kitchen, “Sorry, honey,” he replied to Malfoy whose back was facing him, hair tied back in a half bun, as he worked at something on the stovetop.
Malfoy turned to glower at him and Harry couldn’t help but take in the long, lean lines of the other man’s body. Who wore trousers and a dress shirt while they were cooking in the kitchen? The effect was ruined when Malfoy opened his mouth, “Look, Potter, when you are late I have to hear that infernal buzzing noise as well. Do try to follow the instructions we’ve been given.”
Malfoy turned back and flicked his hand at the spoon that was stirring something on the stove and it stopped.
“Sorry,” Harry said, too distracted by Malfoy’s display of wandless magic to think about what he was saying.
Malfoy twisted to look wryly over his shoulder, one elegant eyebrow arched at him.
“Shut up,” Harry said.
Malfoy smirked and turned back to the stovetop. “You can pick your room and put your bag down, if you’d like. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes so don’t dawdle.”
“Dinner?”
Malfoy waved a hand carelessly toward the island between them and a knife started to cut through a loaf of fresh bread. Harry’s stomach growled. “Yes, Potter. Judging by the way you scarfed down food in the great hall at school, you’re familiar with the concept.”
“But,” Harry started, not even sure where to start, “Why?”
Malfoy turned and made his way to a wine rack, “White or red, Potter?”
“What are we having?” Harry asked before he could think better of it and the fact that Malfoy hadn’t answered his original question.
“Why, Potter,” Malfoy said, turning to look at him, “I’m surprised. Have you learned about pairing wines with food?”
Harry sniffed, there was no way he was telling Malfoy about Alex. No. way. Instead, he said, “Yes, well, like you said earlier, I’ve changed since school.”
Malfoy nodded slowly and his eyes raked down Harry’s body, then back up before he said, “Roast chicken with herb jus, mashed potatoes, a simple french bread, and salad with an apple vinaigrette.”
“You made all of that?”
A delicate blush spread along Malfoy’s cheeks, Harry found it strangely charming. “I-” Malfoy started. “Much of the preparation-” he cleared his throat. “I’d done much of the preparation last night. It seemed foolish for it to go to waste.”
“No, sorry-” Harry started, waving his hands like an idiot. “That wasn’t a complaint. I was just surprised.”
Before Malfoy could reply a charm he’d set began to ding and he turned around to the oven. “Pick a wine, Potter,” he said, but not unkindly so, as he opened the door and levitated the chicken out of the oven.
Harry dropped his bag on the floor, mouth watering at the smell, and went over to the wine rack and pulled out a Sauvignon Blanc.
Malfoy had a knife carving the chicken as he flicked a hand at the potatoes on the stove so they began emptying themselves into a bowl.
“You’re pretty good at wandless magic,” Harry commented, it wasn’t something that he’d really mastered until he’d been in training for the Aurors, and he was in the extreme minority. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised based on what he’d learned about their magical cores today.
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, “Well, I have you to thank for that, really,” he said as he levitated the dishes he’d prepared for dinner and sent them into the dining room ahead of them.
“Me?” Harry asked incredulously. They weren’t even in the same training year, Malfoy had spent 4 months in Azkaban when Harry had started training, then done mandatory community service for 6 months and started training the year after Harry.
Malfoy nodded and gestured at the chair across from his at the modest four-person dining room table. “Please help yourself,” he said as he started to put food on his own plate. Then he actually continued to answer Harry’s question, “You stole my wand once.”
Harry winced but his mouth immediately opened to argue.
Malfoy, the annoying git, talked over him, “I know it was for a good reason and I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done it.” Harry’s jaw snapped shut at his words. Malfoy smirked at him and Harry rolled his eyes even as he scooped out a large portion of mashed potatoes.
“I learned,” Malfoy continued, “because I didn’t ever want to feel powerless again. Obviously, my wand is better for precision work and for dueling but if the knife doesn’t cut the bread in perfectly straight even pieces, or if I need to throw up a hasty shield in dueling, it serves just fine.”
While he was talking, Harry nodded along and poured the wine. He was tempted to do it wandlessly because he wanted to show off, but he knew Malfoy wouldn’t be impressed and would probably just mock him. “So, are you planning to cook every night for us?” he asked as he took a bite of mashed potatoes. He couldn’t help but groan as the creamy, buttery taste burst over his tongue.
“Definitely not, Potter. Why should I cook for you every night?”
Harry swallowed and said, “Because this is probably the best meal I’ve had since I lived at Hogwarts.”
Malfoy blushed again and something in the pit of Harry’s stomach shifted disconcertingly. Malfoy sighed, “Perhaps you could learn.”
Harry shrugged and took another bite of chicken, “Are you offering to teach me?”
“Would you accept if I were?” he parried.
Harry leaned back in his chair and stared across at Malfoy as he thought for a minute. “You aren’t like I remember you.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes, “Someone alert the press, the Chosen One is learning that people change as they age,” he drawled.
“You’re a twat,” Harry huffed irritably. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know people change. It’s just-” Harry stopped and looked down at his plate.
“Just what, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his voice has gone low and dangerous; this is more the Malfoy that Harry remembered.
“Just that you’re...” he trailed off again and Malfoy cleared his throat. Harry could feel a light crackling of Malfoy’s magic around him and somehow that warning of his temper pushed Harry over the edge. “You weren’t into saving people. You weren’t invested in the wellbeing of others. And you certainly wouldn’t have been offering to teach someone to cook.”
“You have no idea who I was in school,” Malfoy snapped.
“I know you were a bully!” Harry returned, fire crackling in his veins. “You ratted people out to make yourself feel powerful; joined the inquisitorial squad,” Malfoy spluttered at that but Harry continued. “Tried to kill Dumbledore. Got a fucking dark mark and joined Voldemort at sixteen. You spent your entire school career going on and on about your father. ‘Wait until my father hears about this,’” Harry parroted. “You idolized a man who bullied people and believed in a megalomaniac. You wanted to be just like him and it seems like you did a pretty good job becoming him during the war.”
“So it’s that you couldn’t have imagined that a death eater could change and become an Auror? That you didn’t imagine that a Malfoy could work day in and day out on the same side as you do? That someone who had been in Azkaban could want to make something good out of their life?”
“No,” Harry said, even though Malfoy wasn’t far off the mark. “That’s not-”
“Fuck you, Potter,” Malfoy snapped. “Because I have worked damn hard to be where I am and I have fought bigger monsters than you to get there.” Malfoy slid his chair back from the table and threw down his napkin on his plate as he stood up. “You had no choice,” he growled. “No choice but to be good. No choice but to be the hero. Other people did not have it as easy as you.” He turned from the table, his shoulder-length blond hair flipping as he spun, “And I am taking the blue room. You can have the sodding cream one.”
He stood up, too, not ready to be done arguing. The heat of self righteous anger raced through his veins, making his heart hammer and blood sing. “It wasn’t easy-” Harry started but Malfoy made it to his room and slammed the door. Harry could hear a shouted “Circumvestio” and knew that there was no way Malfoy would be able to hear him now.
“It wasn’t bloody easy,” he muttered to himself as he plopped back down and shoved another spoonful of potatoes into his mouth. “Was really fucking hard.”
He stewed while he finished his dinner, the food somehow didn’t taste as good as it had before they’d started bickering but it was still better than what Harry would have made.
When he’d finished his meal, he cleared the plates (wandlessly; take that Malfoy) and sent them to wash themselves, then he packaged up the leftover food and put it under a stasis charm so Malfoy could eat it tomorrow. He drained a second glass of wine before re-corking the remainder. Bloody Malfoy.
It wasn’t until he’d gotten into his room that Harry started to think about what Malfoy had said. Harry hated the excruciating process of becoming self-aware. While Malfoy hadn’t been right about everything, he hadn’t been entirely wrong either. Of course people changed, Malfoy had probably proven he had over and over to people; he probably had to do it all of the time, Harry reflected.
He flopped back onto his bed and crossed his arms over his stomach. He was going to have to apologize.
If Harry tried to say that their training was a walk in the park that afternoon, he’d be lying but it was strangely far more tolerable than it had been the past several days. Malfoy still got irritated with Harry for his impulsiveness and Harry still felt like he was chomping at the bit trying to drag Malfoy along with him but they at least communicated more.
They were both lying on the floor trying to catch their breath from the last simulation when Higgins came in.
“I see the Nexus orb is doing its job,” she said.
“We passed?” Herry asked hopefully.
“No,” she and Malfoy said simultaneously.
She smiled at Malfoy, even as Harry rolled his eyes at him and stuck out his tongue.
“What, are you 5, Potter?”
Higgins spoke up before Harry could say anything, “So, your physical response and emergency response indicators were both up by 3%, which was a great improvement. But the indicators that really showed that your orb was working was your personality response. That was up 11%, good work you two. Obviously, it’s helped the two of you to talk with one another more.”
Harry nodded and glanced at Malfoy, “Yeah, I think it is helping.”
“That’s only because it hasn’t started asking the hard questions that you’ll resent it for later,” Malfoy said, and Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he was teasing or serious.
“Well, I think the progress you’ve made is brilliant.”
“Thanks,” Harry said with a grin.
As they walked out of the room Malfoy stretched his arm across his chest, his breath hitching slightly.
“Alright?” Harry asked.
“Fine,” he said briskly as he exhaled. “Old shoulder injury that’s never managed to heal up properly. My body takes a beating as your partner, even when we’re not in the field apparently.”
“Wanker,” Harry replied, knocking his shoulder into Malfoy’s good one.
As they stumbled into their office laughing and shoving at one another, they were met by the sight of Ron and Hermione staring dumbstruck at the two of them. “Ron! Hermione! Hey,” Harry said, pleased to see them.
“Hi Harry,” Hermione replied, an odd expression on her face before she turned to Malfoy and nodded in greeting, “Draco.”
“Hello,” he replied carefully.
They stood in awkward silence for a moment as Ron gawked at the two of them and Hermione looked between the two of them calculatingly with a look Harry was not entirely fond of.
“Well,” Hermione said after the strain apparently became too much for her to bear. “We just thought we’d stop by and see if you’d like to grab lunch with us.”
“Yeah,” Harry replied immediately, like he always did when they invited him to a meal. “Oh, err,” he turned to Malfoy, “Did you want to come too or...”
“No,” Malfoy said quickly, then he cleared his throat, “No, thank you. I have some leftovers from last night and loads of paperwork to do. I will be fine here.”
“Are you sure?” Harry asked uncertainly, suddenly feeling like he was somehow bailing on the other man.
“Quite sure,” Malfoy replied as he moved toward his desk and busied himself with some files.
“Do you want me to stay-”
“For Circe’s sake, Potter. Get out of here. Go to lunch,” Malfoy snapped.
“Yeah, alright.” He glanced over at Ron and Hermione; Ron was standing there looking at him like he’d grown an extra head but Hermione just looked curiously at him. The curiosity seemed much worse.
They made their way to the cafeteria and thankfully Hermione started talking about one of the projects they were working on developing for St. Mungos. Unfortunately, this only lasted until they’d gone through the line to get their meals and sat down; then Hermione cast a muffliato and Ron immediately opened his mouth.
“What just happened?”
“Sorry?” Harry asked, feigning innocence and stabbing into his food.
“I think what Ron is trying to ask is if you and Malfoy have decided to be friends?” Hermione clarified.
“No, I mean what the bloody hell is going on,” Ron said. “Are you under an imperius curse?”
“Ron, I can throw off an imperius curse, remember?” he replied, rolling his eyes like Ron was being dramatic even though he would have said the exact same thing a week ago.
“Calm down, Ronald,” Hermione said briskly as she took a sip of her tea. “Let him speak.” Then she looked at him expectantly and waited.
“Well,” Harry said, “We’re not friends, exactly, but we don’t exactly hate each other anymore either.”
“How?” Ron asked, his brow furrowed. “This is Malfoy we are talking about.”
“Well he’s not the same as he was at school,” Harry said with a shrug as he stuffed his sandwich in his mouth hoping to avoid having to say any more about it.
“Really?” Ron asked skeptically.
“Yeah,” Harry said through a mouthful of food. “Spending over a week in someone’s presence really forces you to get to know them a bit.”
“Huh,” Ron said, staring off into space for a long moment.
“We’re just surprised,” Hermione said quickly. “We thought it would be unbearable for you.”
“It was in the beginning,” Harry replied. “But eventually I realized I was still imagining him as the stupid prat we knew at school but he’s not that person any more than I am who I was at school.”
“But the pureblood, elitism shite he was always spouting?” Ron asked.
“Yeah, haven’t heard a single word out of his mouth about any of that," he replied honestly.
“Huh,” Ron said again before shrugging and shoving a crisp in his mouth. “Who would’ve thought it?”
“Right?” Harry replied, glad that Ron and Hermione seemed to be settling into the idea that Malfoy wasn’t awful more quickly than he had.
“Well, it’s not really surprising when you think about it,” Hermione said.
“How so?” Harry asked as Ron said, “What do you mean, not surprising?”
“Well, he sort of rebelled against Pureblood culture, didn’t he?”
“Hermione,” Harry said, “You're using the 'we all know what's going on here voice' when in fact you are the only one who knows what's going on here. Tell us what you know that we obviously don’t.”
Ron nodded in agreement.
“Well, it was all over the papers and Millie Bulstrode couldn’t stop gossiping about it at work. It was quite the scandal.”
“What was?” he asked, barely tamping down on the desire to snap in an effort to get her to talk faster. He never read the Prophet and he didn’t have any coworkers or friends who were in the same social circle, she knew all of this.
“He was supposed to marry Astoria Greengrass, you remember?” Harry didn’t but he didn’t say so. “His parents had set it up, it was supposed to help the Malfoy name, he was supposed to go into politics or something. But after a few weeks, he called the whole thing off, said it was a sham and neither he nor Astoria deserved to live a lie.”
“Wow,” Harry said.
“His parents didn’t take it well, from what I understand. His father demanded he marry some pureblood girl and start a family but he refused and his father disowned him. It was quite a public spectacle, I’m told. Draco apparently opted to shout abuses at his father on the sidewalk in Diagon alley outside of a restaurant. The direct quote, if I’m remembering correctly,” and Harry had no doubt she was, “was that ‘all of their antiquated pureblood traditions could go straight back to hell from whence they’d come.’”
“Blimey,” Ron said with a low whistle.
Harry didn’t quite know what to say. After a moment he decided on, “You couldn’t have told me this before I made a complete arse of myself and basically called him a bigoted prick who was exactly the same as he was in school?”
Hermione shrugged, “I’m sorry. I’d just assumed you’d heard. He works in the same department that you do and it truly was in all of the papers. They hounded him for weeks to get quotes from him and he always said things about how terrible the whole system was and that it was a load of codswallop. Some people thought it was just a publicity stunt to get him into good graces in the ministry, I just assumed that’s what you thought too.”
“Yeah, but his parents disowned him,” Harry said. “Even if it was a publicity stunt, that sort of consequence doesn’t seem worth it.”
Hermione nodded, “I agree, but how was I to know that you didn’t know?”
Harry shrugged, suddenly feeling like even more of a heel. “I feel like a jerk.”
“But you couldn’t have known, mate,” Ron said conciliatorily. “And it seemed like the two of you are getting along fine now so he must not be too mad at you.”
“No,” Harry agreed. “He’s been pretty kind, actually.” He snorted, “He thinks I have a deathwish and hate my job-”
Hermione and Ron gave each other one of those pointed shared looks that Harry hated.
“Which I don’t,” he said, glaring at them. “But honestly, it’s been nice having a partner who calls me out and doesn’t treat me like I’m made of glass and always right.”
Hermione nodded but Ron said, “I mean, I hear you, mate but Malfoy? Really?”
“I know,” he said with a helpless little shrug. “He drives me a little batty but I think this might actually work.”
They moved on to a different topic of conversation, Hermione telling them more about her work. Before long, Harry found himself saying goodbye and heading back to his office and feeling just the tiniest bit nervous.
Malfoy was sitting at his desk, filling in paperwork, when Harry came back in and he looked calm enough but Harry couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about. “Hey,” he said.
The other man glanced up at him, “Hi,” he said before going back to work. No other words were forthcoming but Harry couldn’t help standing there and waiting for him to say something else.
“Did you need something?” Malfoy asked.
“Are you mad?”
“Mad?” Malfoy asked. “No, why would I be mad?”
“I don’t know.”
Malfoy went back to writing again but when Harry didn’t move he dropped his quill and rubbed his hands over his face, “What, Potter?”
“What are you thinking?”
“That you’re an irritating prat.”
Huffing Harry asked, “What were you thinking before I came back in?”
“That I could barely remember the details of the case I’m writing up and I really ought to have gotten to it before now,” he said blandly.
“Malfoy,” Harry growled warningly.
“Just leave it.”
“No,” he said, stubbornly crossing his arms across his chest.
“Fine,” Malfoy exploded and now he did sound angry. “I was wondering if Granger and Weasley were going to bring you back to your senses and make you hate me again. I was wondering how much ground we were going to have to recover. I was wondering if there is any way this bloody partnership will ever work. Happy?” he spat.
“Oh,” Harry replied.
“Oh? That’s all you’ve got to say?” He threw down the paper he’d been holding and stood up. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Malfoy,” Harry said, holding out his hands trying to placate him.
“Don’t,” Malfoy replied and Harry didn’t think that was quite fair because how could Malfoy know what he was going to say when Harry didn’t know himself? “This is not easy for me, Potter, whatever you may think. It is bloody hard living with someone who has every reason in the world to hate you, to never forgive you, and to be right for both of those things.”
“Malfoy,” Harry started again.
“I said dont.”
“Draco,” Harry said, not entirely sure why he was using Malfoy’s given name, but Malfoy froze so it was probably the right call. “Listen to me. I do not hate you. Ron and Hermione didn’t want to tell me that I was being an idiot, they just wondered how everything was going. I told them things are going well.”
“You did?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Well, yeah,” Harry replied. “Things are going well, aren’t they?”
“Well, I thought so.”
“Right, then why are you worried?”
“I’m not worried,” Malfoy sneered.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Because you’re unpredictable!” he burst out. “Because it is exhausting living with someone and waiting for them to remember that they have good reasons to dislike you.”
“You have good reasons to dislike me, too,” Harry replied softly.
“No, I don’t. You literally saved the world. You are so noble and good that you came to my hearing and testified on my behalf even though I did all of those horrible things.”
“I literally cast a spell at you that could have killed you.”
“Because I was trying to crucio you,” he said. Then he added, ”I am the representation of everything you fought against.”
“You’re not,” he said firmly. “Malfoy, you were just a kid. You were right when you said you had no choice and you were right when you said it was easy for me to make the right choices. It was hard sometimes, I guess, but for every person you had pushing you to do horrible things I had someone pushing me to do good things.” Harry swallowed and took a step toward him, “I do not regret testifying at your trial, or at Narcissa’s. The war never would have been won if it weren’t for the two of you.”
“But there never would have been a war to begin with if it weren’t for people like me.”
“Do you believe those things? Do you believe in any of the things that Voldemort stood for?”
“When I was younger-”
“Right now,” Harry interrupted. “Do you believe any of those things? At this moment, do you believe even a word that that madman said?”
“Of course not.”
“Then it’s settled.”
“What is?”
Harry held out his hand, “Let’s start this all again, yeah?”
“What?”
“Hi,” he said after a deep breath. “I’m Harry Potter.”
“This is ridiculous.”
Harry just stood there, hand outstretched, waiting. He got the terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that Malfoy wasn’t going to take his hand.
But after a moment he took Harry’s hand and shook it, “Draco,” he said. “Draco Malfoy.”
Harry kept his hand gripped tightly in his own, “We were both just kids, Draco. Stupid kids. Let’s move on.”
Malfoy nodded once.
Harry beamed at him, “Great. I look forward to working with you.”
The next morning when Harry woke up, he couldn’t remember ever feeling quite as disgusting as he did in this moment. He stumbled to the bathroom and relieved himself before making his way out to the kitchen and pouring a large glass of water.
The door onto the porch opened and Harry glanced over at Malfoy who was wearing his tight teal yoga pants and a loose fitting tank top, his hair in a top knot again. “Potter, you smell like a distillery. Have you never heard of a hangover potion? Or a shower?”
Harry groaned irritably. “Get off my back, Malfoy.”
“Here,” he said, handing him a vial with a potion in it.
And it probably spoke to how awful Harry was feeling that he simply took the potion and drank it down. He shuddered as the sledge drained down his throat and for a horrifying moment, he was quite sure he was going to be sick all over the kitchen counter. After a moment it passed and he suddenly felt much better. “Thanks,” he said, not feeling outstanding, but not feeling like he’d been hit by the night bus, either.
“Go have a shower, you’ll feel better,” Malfoy said. “And I’ll feel better because I won’t be able to smell you.”
“You’re such a wanker.”
“Yes, well, honesty does seem to be the best policy with Auror partners,” he said with a shrug. “Now, off you pop; to the shower with you. I’ll make breakfast.”
Harry was loathe to admit it, but a shower went a long way to making him feel a little more human. The house smelled divine as he came out into the living room and made his way to the kitchen.
“Ah, just in time,” Malfoy said and a cup of coffee floated over to him followed by a waffle and a plate of bacon.
“You made waffles?” Harry asked, oddly touched.
Malfoy shrugged, not looking at Harry, “They’re good for absorbing alcohol in your stomach. You’ll function better.”
“You’re-” Harry started before cutting himself off.
“What?” Malfoy asked, glaring suspiciously at him.
“You’ll murder me, but I was going to say sweet.”
Malfoy blinked, mouth opening indignantly for a moment then snapping shut before he groused, “I am not sweet, Potter! I am a Malfoy.”
Harry laughed at that, he couldn’t help himself, “I know, you’ve kept it under wraps very well. I never would have suspected it.”
“Potter, I will curse you into next week.”
“Will you make me waffles when I arrive in next week, too?” Harry asked with a huge grin as he stuffed a bite of waffle into his mouth. He groaned at the fluffy, sweet confection in his mouth, “They’re very good.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath.
“This is the nicest start to a Thursday I’ve ever had.”
“Thursdays are particularly heinous, aren’t they?” Malfoy agreed trying, Harry suspected, to steer them away from the topic of his kindness.
“They’re the worst. Second only to Tuesday,” Harry replied easily.
“You’re right about that, Potter.”
He hummed and took a sip of the coffee that Malfoy had managed to make perfectly for him. “I always spend Thursday mornings daydreaming about flooing in sick to work,” Harry said before taking another large bite of waffle.
“What would you do with a sick day when you’re not sick?” Malfoy asked before taking cutting a small piece of waffle with his knife and delivering it to his mouth. How was he so bloody graceful in everything he did?
“Well, I’d go back to bed for starters,” Harry told him. “Then I’d get up again around 10:00 and I’d make myself a big breakfast, maybe waffles or something,” he said with a grin that Malfoy rolled his eyes at. “I’d pull out one of the two dozen books I have on my to-read book pile and I’d curl up in my favorite armchair and read for a few hours and drink tea. Then in the afternoon, I’d put on a glamour to disguise who I am so I don’t get caught out and I’d go find a farmers market. I’d find the local honey booth and I’d probably fall in love with the bloke who ran it,” he paused then added, “or the girl who ran it. That part changes depending on my mood. I’d stay the rest of the afternoon at his stall just talking and laughing, we’d go to dinner together, and that would be it. The beginning of the perfect life.”
“That’s a very detailed daydream, Potter.”
Harry shrugged, “It changes a bit depending on the season, too. Can’t be daydreaming about farmers markets in the winter.”
“Indeed.”
“Alright, what do you daydream about when you want to play hooky?”
Humming thoughtfully, Malfoy said, “I don’t generally. I like going to work most days, I liked working with my partner. He was kind and he taught me a lot, we worked hard and I always felt good about what we were doing. I didn’t really feel that way about my life until I became an Auror.”
Harry listened attentively, there was something about the little glimpses Malfoy gave him of his interior life that always left him wanting to hear more, his waffle and coffee forgotten for the moment.
Draco cleared his throat, “I’m more likely to daydream about what my evenings after work could be like someday. I imagine having breakfast with my husband or boyfriend or whatever, then going off to work and tracking down criminals. Then I imagine coming home to a warm house with all of the lights on and a fire already lit in the hearth. I imagine making dinner together or curling up on the sofa to read or just talk.” He shrugged, his cheeks faintly flushed. “It’s stupid really.”
“It’s not,” Harry said softly, and he wanted to reach out and cover Malfoy’s hand with his own, but he didn’t. “It’s not,” he said again, more softly.
He wasn’t quite sure what it was that was happening, what had shifted over the past 12 hours between them. He opened his mouth to say something when Malfoy’s tempus charm went off, startling them both.
“Circe,” Malfoy cursed, waving a hand to stop the alarm. “I have to get ready, enough daydreaming for me.”
And if Harry fancied he heard a bit of wistfulness in Malfoy’s voice, well, he kept his thoughts to himself.
———
Harry was no stranger to the desire to watch Malfoy. He’d spent a fairly large amount of time watching the other man when they were just boys and he could admit, if only to himself, that whenever the two of them had ended up at the same events his eyes stayed glued to the other man, watching him suspiciously.
What was more unfamiliar were the feelings behind his desire to watch him now. Throughout the course of the morning, Harry couldn’t fight the impulse to look up at the other man while they filled in paperwork.
And he’d stare at him, trying to reconcile the pretentious, rude, bigoted boy he’d known in school with this graceful, elegant, hard-working man who daydreamed about coming home to someone at night and who wanted a tiny cozy house. He was nothing like what Harry had imagined.
“What, Potter?” Malfoy finally asked, after looking up for the sixteenth time to find Harry watching him. Harry always tried to avert his eyes, but didn’t manage it well.
“Nothing,” Harry said.
“You have your sixth-year-stalker face on,” Malfoy said with a raised eyebrow.
“What?”
He rolled his eyes, “Every time I look up I see you staring at me and even when I’m not looking at you, I can feel your eyes boring a hole into my skull. It’s like 6th year all over again.”
“This is nothing like that,” Harry replied, his neck growing warm.
Malfoy merely raised one infuriatingly elegant eyebrow at him.
“It’s not!” Harry protested. “Then I was just trying to figure out what you were up to and now,” Harry trailed off, not really sure what to say.
“And now…” Malfoy prompted.
“Now I’m just trying to figure you out,” Harry finished lamely with a shrug.
His brow furrowed, “What about me are you trying to figure out? I’ve been very upfront with you, Potter.”
“I know,” Harry said, “I just sort of like getting to know this you.”
Malfoy stared at him for a moment, then narrowed his eyes, “Are you still drunk, Potter?”
“You’re a prat,” Harry said with a laugh.
“I might have always been amazing to know at Hogwarts,” Malfoy said haughtily. “You don’t know.”
“I don’t,” Harry agreed. “You always seemed to have plenty of friends.”
Malfoy shrugged, “Yes and no.” There was a sadness around Malfoy’s eyes and in the twist of his mouth that made something twist uncomfortably in Harry’s stomach. "I certainly had my faults."
“I was a delight to be around as a teenager, let me tell you,” Harry replied, trying to steer toward something that would make his melancholy disappear.
That startled a laugh out of Malfoy, “Oh, I’ve no doubt. Only you were weirdly moody from like 5th year on.”
“I was not!” Harry said, trying to feel offended but not quite managing it.
“You were,” Malfoy said. “Always glaring into you porridge in the morning and skulking about as though the world was out to get you.”
“It was!” Harry exclaimed. “In fifth year, Voldemorte’s thoughts started leaking into my head and if you think teenage hormones are bad, you’ve got no idea what it’s like to also be sharing thoughts with a mad man when he’s most upset.”
“Sorry,” Malfoy said incredulously, “Did you really just tell me that you were sharing thoughts with Voldemort?”
Harry suddenly wished he hadn’t brought this up. He gave a small nod.
“And no one helped you stop them? No one wanted to, like, protect you?”
“People wanted to protect me,” he said a touch defensively. “Dumbledore made Snape start teaching me occulmency and-”
“Snape?” Malfoy asked incredulously. “He wanted Snape to teach you occulmency.”
“Well, yeah,” he said. “He was really good at it.”
“But he was a bloody awful legilimency teacher,” Malfoy replied. “My parents wanted him to teach me, too, but one lesson and they swiftly changed their minds about that. And he liked me.”
“Yeah, it was pretty awful. That was a bad year. After Cedric died, everything sort of went downhill, you know? It was like the war became something real, something that could actually hurt people I loved.” He swallowed, “I was just a kid, you know? And it felt like I had all of this pressure on me that no one understood. And I just felt really alone and isolated from everyone else, like sometimes it was like I was watching everything through a window. People would laugh and talk and I just felt angry. All the time. For no reason at all. And some people wanted to treat me like a child, because I was one, but I didn’t feel like I should be treated like one. He was in my head, and I was the one who saw him when he came back, I was the one he was after, and people were dying. For me. And I just hated that. I hated all of it.”
The room was quiet and Harry glanced over at Malfoy, who was staring at him calculatingly. “That was sixth year for me,” he said, surprising Harry with his honesty. “Not the bit about Voldemort, although he was living in my house and I, too, had to learn occlumency. But realizing the actuality of the war that was brewing, seeing the effects first hand. My friends didn’t really get it, not even the ones whose parents were supporters of Voldemort, he didn’t live with them, he didn’t torture people in their homes. Their parents were similar to mine, I think, but no one like my Aunt Bellatrix, no one in appearance like Severus, who was my godfather. School seemed so pointless. Everything seemed pointless. I was going to fail and then I’d be killed along with my mother,” he shrugged helplessly. “I was angry and trapped and I felt like there was no way out.”
Harry was quiet for a moment then he asked, “Do you ever think about how crazy our school was?”
Malfoy let out an undignified snort at the question.
“Seriously!” Harry said. “If I were a parent, I’d never send my child to the Hogwarts I went to. I mean, maybe now with Minerva in charge and with people in the Ministry who actually understand the way children learn pushing for solid education reform. But the Hogwarts we went to? No bloody chance. They had us wandering around looking for some dark being who was killing unicorns when we were eleven, Malfoy. Eleven. That was fucking Voldemort that we stumbled across that night, by the way. Two children, wandering around in what is literally called the forbidden forest at night with no adult.”
Malfoy's open laughter made the corners of Harry’s lips tilt up at the sound, so he continued.
“Not to mention our teacher had, you know, Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head. Then second year, children are getting petrified left and right, they hired a complete sham of a teacher who set pixies on students and who was completely incapable of teaching anything. I mean, shouldn’t there have been some practical aspect of his interview where he had to demonstrate some skill?”
Malfoy was chortling, his cheeks pink, “You’re right, that is awful.”
“Like they were debating closing Hogwarts, but I would have marched my child straight home the moment someone ended up petrified and not returned them to the school until the damn basilisk was killed. Then third year, parading in a bunch of bloody dementors-” Harry started.
“Well, you were more strangely affected by them than most.”
“I had two souls living inside of me,” Harry replied and Malfoy let out a surprise bark of laughter. “I'm sure they thought I was a complete freak. Regardless, they’re dementors around children and teenagers who are already hormonal,” Malfoy started laughing again at this, “It can’t have made hormones any better.”
“And fourth year with the triwizard tournament,” Harry said. “Are you kidding me? I would never let my child participate in something like that. Who makes children try to steal eggs from a dragon? Or throws them into a lake with mermaids and a giant squid? Who sends children into a maze packed with all sorts of terrifying things all alone?” Malfoy just shook his head at him. “I mean, a child died.” Harry said and at that, Malfoy frowned. “Literally died. And granted they couldn’t have known that the cup could have been switched for a portkey but surely someone should have seen the signs that that man was not Alastor Moody.
“I would have thrown a hissy fit about Umbridge being placed in the school,” Harry continued. “She blatantly abused her power and abused children. Everything was in chaos by the end of the year.” He rubbed his forehead, “I mean, I wasn’t raised in a magical household so maybe wizarding families just always expect this crazy stuff?”
Malfoy shook his head, “No. There were plenty of times in the early years when my parents talked about sending me to a different school. We have family who go to Beauxbaton, so they often talked about sending me there instead.”
“So I’m not crazy.”
“Well I wouldn’t go that far,” Malfoy replied with a smirk. Then he added, “And you got into more trouble than everyone else.”
“But I only mentioned things that affected all of the students! I did plenty of stupid things on my own, admittedly, but there were a vast array of things beyond my control that were not well thought through by adults in power.”
“What can I say, Potter, when you’re right, you’re-”
He was cut off by a knock on the door and Helena coming in.
“You have the worst timing,” Harry teased her with a smile, “He was just about to tell me that I was right.”
“Oh, shut up, Potter,” Malfoy replied without any bite in his tone.
“Well, you two seem to be in fine spirits today,” she commented as she leaned against the doorframe.
“Malfoy made waffles for breakfast.”
“I will hex you, Potter.”
“Oooh!” Helena crowed, crowding into the office and sitting on the corner of Harry’s desk, as though readying herself for prime gossip. “Spill! Did you sleep together? Why was he making breakfast?”
Malfoy groaned, “Do you see what you’ve started?” he asked Harry. “No,” he said firmly in response to Helena’s question. “We live together because we are mandated to until we pass our compatibility tests and Potter got stupidly drunk last night and forgot that we are wizards who can take potions to get rid of hangovers before they even happen. Waffles are the best thing to absorb alcohol out of a stomach.”
“You’re sweet, Auror Malfoy,” she said, obviously quite smitten.
“Draco,” Malfoy corrected as Harry said, “That’s what I said.”
Malfoy sent a mild stinging hex at him and Harry laughed.
“He’s a keeper, Harry,” Helena said with a wink at Malfoy. “Don’t mess this one up.”
“Why is it everyone always assumes I’m the screw up?” Harry whinged and Malfoy smirked at him.
Okay, so one of my New Year's Resolutions was to finally finish up this beastie and get it posted. It's an Auror Partner (enemies-to-friends-to-lovers) fic that I've been messing with for about two years at this point and it's more than halfway done so we're going to do it. This is going to be a lot of parts (it's presently 18 chapters and over 60,000 words long) and the explicit bits will only be on AO3. I'll tag all of the parts "making it work fic" if you'd like to follow along. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed it!
Harry tossed down the handful of parchment that comes with having a partner reassigned, on his desk before tearing off his robe. He’d just gotten out of a travesty of a meeting with Robards, how they could keep assigning him such half-wits as partners, was beyond him.
He poked his head out of the office door, “Helena?”
“What?” she replied, snapping her gum as she flipped the page of her magazine that she was reading while she filled out case notes. She was the most disrespectful secretary he’d ever had, always snapping her gum, and sassing Harry, telling him he was an idiot, and she was terrible at taking his messages. But she didn’t think that Harry shot gold bricks. So.
He loved her.
“Hold my owls, please.”
She looked up from the notes she was transcribing onto the official form, “Who is it, then?” she asked, sounding a bit put out.
“I don’t know yet, but you’ll be the first to know when I do.”
“You always do this," she grumbled. "Better not be some wanker,” she muttered under her breath. Then she frowned up at him, “I liked Henry,” she whinged.
“Oi,” Harry muttered, correcting her language, but his heart wasn’t in it, they both knew it. “Language. The new Auror joining us in this office may not like your snarkiness, and they will be as much your boss as I am.”
“So, not very much at all then,” she said with a smirk.
“Bloody cheeky,” Harry said, shaking his head.
“You love it,” she replied.
He didn’t bother denying it, “Well, my new partner might not.”
An interdepartmental memo zipped into the office and Harry took the opportunity to close the door between the two of them. He took a deep breath and tried smoothing down his hair nervously. He hadn’t intended to get Henry reassigned. He was a nice enough bloke but he had been more concerned with Harry’s safety on a case than on the task ahead of them and that wouldn’t do.
He’d tried to tell the powers that be repeatedly that he needed someone who didn’t see him as the savior to work with him. It was a danger to him and to everyone around them otherwise.
Shaking his head, he glanced over to the window and startled to see a lovely white cat lying out in the sun.
“Well, hello there, beautiful boy,” he said as he wandered over to the cat who stood up warily as he approached. He crouched down in front of the cat and held out his hand, “It’s alright,” he soothed.
The cat stuck its nose up at the offering of Harry’s hand but rubbed against his right shin before twisting around to rub against Harry’s left thigh. This time, he allowed Harry to scratch between his ears before stretching then gracefully jumping up on Harry’s desk.
“Careful, lovely,” Harry murmured to the cat as it flopped gracefully over onto the pile of papers he’d tossed down on the way in.
“Harry?” Helena called, she sounded vaguely nervous which did not bode well. “You need to see this interdepartmental memo.”
“I told you to hold them,” he said, scratching the cat’s chest while the cat rolled on his papers and purred.
“Yeah, you’re going to want to read this.”
Harry huffed a sigh and turned away from the cat, who jumped down from the desk, pushing the papers onto the floor.
“I told you to be careful,” Harry tsked softlyy at the cat, who ignored him in favor of rubbing against the chair.
He bent down to pick up the papers as Helena called, “Seriously, this shouldn’t wait.”
With a sigh, he tossed the papers back on his desk and opened the door again. The cat followed him out into the waiting room outside his office and rubbed against the corner of the desk before sitting and delicately licking its paw.
Harry snatched the memo from her hand and read the brisk lines.
AUROR POTTER,
PLEASE ENSURE THE SECOND DESK IN YOUR OFFICE IS READY FOR YOUR NEW PARTNER TODAY. AUROR MALFOY WILL BE MOVING HIS THINGS IN SHORTLY.
HA ROBARDS
“Are you punking me, Helena?” he asked because that was the only logical explanation for this missive. There was no way anyone in their right mind would have paired him and Malfoy together.
They’d kill each other in the first week.
“No,” she said softly, more seriously than he had ever heard her.
He stared blankly ahead for a moment, “Fuck me,” he grunted. At Helena’s startled laugh, he came back to himself. He shook his head ruefully, “Sorry.”
He went back into his office before she could say anything else and looked around. The second desk was clear, Henry had cleared his things out the evening before and Harry had decided to try to tidy up some of his things as well, first impressions and all that.
Not that there was anything that could fix the past decade worth of impressions they'd had on one another at this point, he thought glumly.
It was only a few minutes later when he could feel Malfoy enter the room. He’d always had a strong magical signature, Harry just hadn’t learned to recognize it until he’d become an Auror. He took a steadying breath, “Malfoy,” he said by way of greeting.
“Potter,” came the terse reply.
Harry turned around and they stood staring at one another for a long moment, there was tension there, a lifetime of anger and resentment broiling between them. He clenched his fists and slowly relaxed them. “I don’t know how this is going to work.”
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Potter,” Malfoy snapped, as he pushed in past him, all of his boxes levitating behind him. “Don’t be such a child. Am I to assume this is my desk?” he asked, waving an irritatingly graceful hand at the desk that didn’t belong to Harry.
Harry was frankly surprised that he hadn’t tried to move to his desk just to be contrary instead. “Yes,” he said.
Malfoy started spelling his possessions out of his boxes and into the drawers and filing cabinet.
“Why are you unpacking?” Harry asked.
Malfoy didn’t even pause in directing his files to the correct drawers. “I was under the impression that I now have the distinct honor of being assigned as your new partner,” he drawled.
“We’ll never pass the compatibility test,” Harry said.
“Finally admitting how hard you are to work with, Potter?” Malfoy asked with a smirk.
Harry glared at Malfoy, “Oddly it wasn’t me I was worried about.”
“Ah,” Malfoy said, “Still struggling under the weight of your massive ego, then?”
“That’s rich coming from you,” Harry all but snarled at him.
“How many partners have you had?” Malfoy asked, his voice irritatingly collected as he leaned his hip against his desk and folded his arms over his chest.
“What does that have to do-”
“How. many,” he interrupted calmly.
“Six,” Harry spat.
“So, that makes me lucky number seven,” Malfoy said, “Do you know how many partners I’ve had, Potter?”
“No.”
“One. I have been with my last partner for the past four years; he retired a few days ago and that is the only reason I need a new partner. What was your longest stint with a partner? Ten months?”
“That isn’t my fault.”
“Of course not,” Malfoy said placatingly, and Harry hated how calm he sounded. “It couldn’t possibly be that the Savior of the Wizarding World is hard to work with.”
“I’m not hard to work with!” Harry protested.
“No?”
“No!” Harry snapped. “I am great at teamwork.”
“Sure,” Malfoy replied with that haughty, trademark Malfoy smirk that had always driven Harry round the twist.
Harry was about to reply, something scathing, he was certain when Helena interrupted them. “Harry? Auror Malfoy?” she asked, a touch more timid than Harry had ever heard her.
“Draco, please,” Malfoy corrected her, but his voice was warm and open in a way Harry found exceedingly suspicious.
“Draco,” she corrected and gave him a tiny half-smile.
Bloody Malfoy charm was already winning over his favorite secretary. “Did you have something you needed to say?” Harry snapped at her.
“Yes, I can see how easy you are to work with,” Draco commented dryly.
Helena snorted at this and Harry glared at her, betrayal burning in his gut. She glanced at him and smoothed her face into some semblance of seriousness. “Head Auror Robards would like to see you in his office.”
“Good. The sooner we get the compatibility tests out of the way the better,” Harry said. “Then we can forget about this farce.”
He started out down the hall, Malfoy at his left, “Potter, have you ever failed a compatibility test?”
“No,” Harry replied, “Because I am easy to work with.”
“Right,” Malfoy said again. “What do you imagine happens when you fail a compatibility test?”
“Your partner gets reassigned,” Harry said. The ministry would never make you work with someone who was dangerous for your well being. Partners had to be able to trust one another, if they couldn’t there was no hope of them being able to work out in the field.
He walked up to Robard’s assistant, “Hello, Matthew.”
“Hello Auror Potter,” he replied, then peeked around Harry, “Auror Malfoy.”
“Head Auror Robards summoned us,” Harry told him even as Malfoy tried to greet him.
“Yes,” he said, “He’s ready for you.”
Harry stomped toward the door, but Malfoy stopped at his desk, “It’s Draco,” he told him and Harry heard Matthew laugh. “How’s that new crup pup?”
Matthew all but squealed with delight, “He’s perfect,” he gushed. “Well, mostly,” he said with a laugh. “We're still working on house training.”
Draco laughed, “Good. I’m glad.”
“Thank you for the recommendation,” he said.
Harry cleared his throat, “If you’re ready, Malfoy?”
“Sorry, Matt,” Draco said, nodding toward Harry. “Best be off. Say hi to Laurence for me.”
“Will do,” the other man replied easily.
They walked through the door that let them into the hallway leading to Robard’s office. “What are you playing at?”
“Pardon?” Malfoy asked, in the most bored tone Harry’d ever heard.
“Oh, Matt, tell me about your puppy. Say hi to your husband for me. Kisses, kisses,” Harry mocked.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Potter,” he replied.
“Oh, no? Did you get him the crup from the black market or something?”
“You can’t be serious,” Malfoy said as they stopped outside of the door into Robard’s office. “You are serious. Circe. Can you even hear yourself? Is it even possible for someone as stupid as you clearly are to become an Auror?”
“Is it even possible for someone as slimy and malicious as you to be an Auror?” Harry countered.
Malfoy inhaled deeply through his nose, “Listen, Potter. I know it will be difficult for you to understand, but I’ll try to use small words. Not all of us are still stuck in their Glory Days at Hogwarts. Some of us have grown and changed.”
“Like I can even believe a word-”
The door in front of them opened and Robards looked the two of them up and down, “If you’re quite through,” he drawled. “I haven’t got all day to wait for you two to have your spat.”
“It’s his fault,” Harry accused even as Malfoy said, “My apologies, Head Auror.”
Harry seethed, now Malfoy was just trying to make him look bad.
“Inside,” Robards said as he turned from them and went back into the office.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” Harry hissed.
“What? Keep my job?” Draco asked, voice equally soft but hard.
“Not another word,” Robards said.
“But, Sir,” Harry started as the two of them sat down in front of his desk, “You can’t honestly expect us to work together. We have nothing in common and we’ll probably end up killing one another.”
“I was under the impression that you’d spoken at Auror Malfoy’s hearing after the war.”
“Yes, but-”
“And that you’d pushed for him to be released,”
“Yes, but-”
“And encouraged them to rule him innocent of all crimes.”
“Yes, but-”
“So, what are your objections?”
“He’s,” Harry started before realizing ‘a massive git’ probably wouldn’t do. “Malfoy,” he finished lamely. “We’ve never gotten on a day in our lives. We have nothing in common.”
Robards turned to Malfoy, “Auror Malfoy, do you have the same reservations?”
Harry whipped his head to look over at Malfoy next to him. Malfoy didn’t even glance at him but looked straight at Robards. He cleared his throat, “Sir, we had a childhood rivalry.”
“A childhood rivalry?!” Harry exclaimed, that hardly seemed to do their antagonism justice.
Robards turned to glare at Harry, “Auror Malfoy didn’t interrupt you while you were speaking, could you please manage to offer him the same courtesy?”
Harry fell back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Perhaps it sounds understated when I say childhood rivalry,” Malfoy said, then he added, “We openly antagonized one another. I said cruel things about him and his friends, he returned the favor.”
“More than cruel,” Harry muttered.
“More than cruel,” Malfoy affirmed softly, looking down at his lap and for a moment Harry forgot to hate him and felt a little guilty. Then Malfoy looked up again, eyes clear and Harry’s stomach unclenched, “But I am not the boy I was at school,” he said, glancing at Harry. “And neither is Potter.” He paused, then added, “As much as he is trying to make himself seem like he is.”
Harry wanted to offer an angry retort but knew that would only serve to demonstrate what Malfoy was saying.
“I think,” Malfoy said carefully, “That working together will be a challenge, nonetheless. There’s a lot of history between us, not much of it good.”
“That seems like an understatement.”
“Look, Potter,” Robards said, “I’m going to be frank with you. You’re a damn good Auror,” he said and Harry preened at the compliment. “But you are a massive pain in my arse.”
Malfoy snorted and Robards glared at him. “Sorry,” Malfoy said, holding out a hand and smoothing out the smirk on his face.
Robards turned back to Harry, who still felt affronted at his comment. “I have never had an Auror go through as many partners as you have.”
“It’s not my fault,” Harry said, skin heating. “It’s not right for me to have a partner that thinks my life is more valuable than anyone else’s. It’s dangerous.”
“I hear you. I have heard you saying that for the past 4 years but you’re Harry Potter,” he said with a shrug. “It’s damn near impossible to find anyone who doesn’t have a bit of a hero-worship complex where you’re concerned.”
Harry frowned at that, “I never asked for that. And I have lots of friends who don’t see me that way.” None that were Aurors, Harry thought somewhat bitterly at Ron.
“Merlin, Potter,” he grunted as he took his glasses off to rub his eyes in a weary sort of gesture. “I’m not blaming you for that, I am just saying I heard you and as soon as Auror Malfoy’s partner retired, I knew I’d found a solution.”
There was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he realized exactly where this was going.
“Auror Malfoy is an outstanding Auror, he was at the top of his class and he’s done well here. He also doesn’t have the problem your past partners have of idolizing you.”
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure what he was meant to say because as much as he may not like it, Robards had a point.
Robards looked between the two of them and when neither of them said anything he continued, “Now. When you go to your compatibility testing and fail,” Harry wanted to bristle at that, but it was probably the truth, “you’re going to have a month to get your scores to passing.”
“Wait,” Harry said, “So if we fail, we aren’t automatically assigned a new partner?”
“No,” Robards replied, “I don’t have an endless supply of Aurors to pair you with Potter. As I was saying, when you fail, you’ll have a month to get your scores to passing. The ministry owns a property that is most commonly used as a safe house, but when you fail, the two of you are going to move into it together.”
“You want us to live together?” Malfoy spluttered and Harry couldn’t help but share the sentiment.
“Yes. You’ll come to work each day and work together, on office work not in the field, then you’ll have one hour from the end of the workday to run errands, pick up things you need from the store or your homes, and any other personal business you have. After that hour you’ll need to spend your evenings together.”
“What if I want to have dinner with my friends?” Harry asked.
“Then you’ll bring Auror Malfoy with you and vice versa. You’re both smart, you’ll figure it out.” Robards shuffled the papers on his desk into a neat pile and Harry could do nothing but stare incredulously at him. “You are dismissed to have your compatibility test. Once it’s finished you’re done for the day; you will have two hours to get what you’ll need to move in to this address,” he said as two slips of paper floated across the desk to Malfoy and Harry. “You’ll be keyed into the wards before you arrive.”
The clock on the wall struck three and Robards glanced at it. “I’ve got to go, I have an appointment with the Minister. Matthew can answer any questions you may have about the property.”
With that, he shooed them out of his office and Harry walked down the hall in a daze. He must be dreaming. It was the only explanation.
Malfoy stopped to talk to Matthew, presumably to ask questions about the safe house they were about to move into, but Harry couldn’t hear it. “I’m going to use the loo. I’ll meet you at Auror Higgins office,” he said vaguely.
Even though Harry knew that he needed to apologize, he found himself incapable of doing so. Every time he looked at the other man, the words got swallowed by the sheer irritation he felt at being put in this situation in the first place.
It wasn't fair. And frankly, Harry had a hard time with anything that smacked of unfairness at this point, his mind healer would certainly tell him that was a trauma response.
Still, as the next three days wore on and they continued to either not talk at all or bicker with each other, as they came to verbal blows, if not physical yet, Harry knew something had to give. This wasn't sustainable.
So, Harry set his alarm early the next morning and rolled out of bed, intent on apologizing for being an arse, on owning his part in their disagreements. He trudged into the kitchen, shoving his glasses up into his hair so he could rub his eyes as he went.
He started by making coffee, hoping that Malfoy drank coffee in the morning, too. Then he pulled out eggs and bacon, grabbed chives, onions, and mushrooms, noting sadly that there weren’t any peppers. As the vegetables started chopping themselves and the beater scrambled the eggs, he started frying up the bacon. While the bacon sizzled away, filling the house with the delightful, comforting smell, he combined the veggies and eggs and set about making omelets.
It was only another ten minutes before he’d plated omelets, bacon, toast, and orange slices. Breakfast didn’t look half bad, if he said so himself. He set their plates out on the table, along with their coffee and put everything under a stasis charm to keep it warm.
Just as he was headed to knock on Malfoy’s door, motion from the deck caught his eye. He glanced over toward the windows to see that Malfoy was out on the deck, blonde hair (tied up in a loose topknot that Harry refused to admit was sexy as hell) glinting in the sun, bare chest glistening with sweat, and sweatpants slung low on his sharp hip bones as he held his body in a perfect warrior pose.
He was undeniably beautiful from a purely aesthetical standpoint. Too bad his personality was so off putting.
As Harry watched, Malfoy arched his back and moved into a reverse warrior pose and Harry could see the definition of his tightly toned muscles in his lean stomach. He held the position for far longer than Harry could imagine that he himself would have been able to, before Malfoy's body effortlessly transitioned into a side angle, his arm reaching up high.
From there he slowly, gracefully flowed through to a flawless triangle pose, then a half moon pose making it look like it was the most natural thing in the world to hold yourself on one leg, with your other leg at a ninety degree angle to your body.
Harry held his breath as Malfoy moved into downward dog, pressing his heels flat to the ground, his (shapely) arse in the air. He couldn’t help the way his mind wandered as he watched Malfoy hold his body in that pose for long moments.
Then he eased out of it and into chaturanga, holding his body in a perfectly straight line, the muscles in his biceps bulging as he kept his arms tight to his body. His hips slowly lowered to the floor and Malfoy pressed his torso up off the ground, his neck elongating into a gorgeous cobra pose and Harry watched as a bead of sweat rolled down his neck, along his collarbones, and into the divot at the base of his throat.
After a long moment held in that position, Malfoy rolled his back up and folded himself back onto his knees as his arms stretched out on the mat in front of him and he was in the perfect child’s pose.
Eventually, Malfoy gracefully rose from his mat and before Harry could even think to stop looking, Malfoy turned to come inside. He froze when he caught sight of Harry through the glass door.
“Sorry,” Harry managed to splutter, “Breakfast is... I should have... I-”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, “Enjoying the view, Potter?” he asked as he stepped through the door and into the living room.
“Err,” Harry said.
“Did you make coffee?” Malfoy asked with a sniff as he walked toward the kitchen and filled a glass of water from the tap.
“Yes,” Harry said, glad that he could say something that didn’t make him sound like an idiot.
“Enough for two?” Malfoy asked before taking a long draw of his water.
Harry watched him swallow before managing to get himself out of his stupor, “Yes. I also made toast and omelets if you’re interested.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow at him, “Well that’s unexpected.”
Harry followed him to the table and sat down in the seat he’d taken that first night when Malfoy had held out an olive branch that Harry had squashed. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, Malfoy,” he started, “I wanted to say sorry-”
“There’s no need,” Malfoy said shortly as he bit into the omelet. “Thank you for breakfast but honestly, there’s no need for you to apologize. I knew this partnership would be hard for you.” He looked up, then dipped his head as he amended, “For both of us, really. There is a lot of history between us and I know I will need to earn your trust as you need to earn mine.”
“Still,” Harry said. “Those things I said, well thought,” he corrected since he’d never said them outloud. “It wasn’t fair of me. I’m sure the past five years since the war have been complete hell for you. And I’m sorry.”
Malfoy nodded once, “Apology accepted.” He set his fork and knife down as he looked at Harry, “I don’t expect us to be best friends or anything, Potter, but I do think we might be able to work together.”
Harry shrugged, “Maybe,” he said. Then he cleared his throat and changed the topic, “So, you’re pretty good at yoga.”
Malfoy snorted, “Enjoyed that, did you?” Harry skin heated but before he could say anything stupid Malfoy continued, “It’s very centering for me.”
“Where did you learn?” Harry asked around a bite of his omelet.
“Oh, I learned when I was a boy,” he said with a shrug. “When I was young, before Hogwarts,” he added, “I had a hard time controlling my magic. I was always vanishing things or setting things on fire,” he waved a hand, “so my parents hired a tutor to teach me to do yoga. I worked with the same man when I was home on breaks throughout my years at Hogwarts.”
“Wow,” Harry said, “That is a lot of dedication.”
Malfoy shrugged, “There are all sorts of strange things you’re taught when you’re a pureblood in lines like the one I came from.”
Harry tried not to bristle at the casual way Malfoy said it, “Like what?” he asked because maybe if he understood better he wouldn’t hate it so much.
“Well,” Malfoy said carefully, “A lot of things come with privilege. I also learned to speak Latin, French, and Greek fluently, along with a handful of others well enough to be able to get by. I took piano lessons until I was fourteen. I was taught to paint as a child, taught classical literature, basic alchemy, things like that.” He tilted his head at Harry, “You went to a muggle school as a child, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “And we certainly weren’t taught things like that.”
Malfoy laughed, “I imagine muggle private schools are similar, though. Or wealthy families who bring tutors into their homes.”
Harry nodded, “I suppose. Dudley went to private schools, I’m not sure what he learned, really, but he was never the brightest bulb in the box.”
“Who’s Dudley?” Malfoy asked, wrinkling his nose and sounding out the name as though it were a disease of some sort.
“Cousin,” Harry said. “He was a few months older than me.”
“Why did Dudley go to a different school than you?” Malfoy asked, sounding genuinely curious.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, he didn’t talk about his childhood before Hogwarts. Still. If he was going to try to make this work a little bit of trust between the two of them was certainly required. “Because he was their son,” he said lamely, “and I was just a burden dumped on them.”
Malfoy stared at him calculatingly for a moment then opened his mouth but before he could speak, one of the tempus charms Malfoy had set alerted him. “Salazar,” he muttered. He flicked his wrist to silence it and turned to look at Harry again. “I have to get ready or I’ll be late to work, but I’d like to...” he trailed off uncertainly. “That is to say, if you’d want to...” he swallowed. “I would like to hear more about your childhood later, if you want.”
“Yeah, alright,” Harry said, even though he had no idea why. If you’d asked him yesterday there is no one he would rather talk to less about his childhood than Malfoy. But that was yesterday.
Malfoy’s lips quirked in the corner and he nodded once before sending his plate and silverware to the sink with a flick of the wrist and picking up his coffee to take with him to get ready. “Thank you for breakfast.”
Harry shrugged carelessly, “it was the least I could do after-“
“I already said you don’t have to apologize,” he interrupted.
“I was going to say after the dinner you made the other night,” Harry replied.
“Oh. Alright then,” he opened his mouth as though he might say more but then closed it again as he toward his room.
“Oh, Malfoy?” Harry called.
“Mmhmm?” He hummed through a sip of coffee as he turned to look at Harry.
“Maybe you could tell me a little bit about what it was like growing up with magic?”
“Could do,” Malfoy replied. “If you’d like.”
“I would, I think,” Harry said.
“Alright. Tonight, then.”
“Yeah,” Harry said as Malfoy turned and started toward his room once more. “Tonight," he repeated, a little uncertainly.
--------------------
Chapter Three | Chapter Five
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To say they had failed their compatibility test outright would be untrue.
“You failed the personality portion of your compatibility tests completely,” Auror Higgins said as she handed them some papers, which Harry knew showed scores and statistics from their tests. “You scored only 23% on the personality portion. Your emergency response indicators were somewhat better, you were 43% compatible.” Honestly, that was better than Harry had imagined. During that portion of the test, it had seemed like his gut instinct was never the same as Malfoy’s.
“Interestingly,” she said, “Your physical response compatibility was at 62%, which indicates that even though you initially had different instincts your responses were made to benefit the other more often than not.”
“What about our magical cores?” Harry asked. Magical signatures and cores couldn’t really change over time so if he and Malfoy failed this part, there was no point in working on anything else. If two people had drastically different power levels they couldn’t be a suitable match.
“Actually, this result was most surprising of all,” Higgins said. “You’re a 98% match,” she said.
Harry and Malfoy both sat stunned for a moment, then as if they shared a link in their brains they tore through their result packets to find that page.
She didn’t seem to be offended by their disbelief. “I know,” she said. “I was surprised, too. I ran the numbers three times.” She shrugged, “Auror Potter has never had a partner closer than a 75% match in this category. Auror Malfoy came closer with his former partner at 87%. I’ve never seen two people closer than 92%.”
Higgins got that gleam in her eyes that Hermione sometimes got right before she dedicated herself to unraveling a particular mystery. Harry couldn’t help feeling nervous that she wanted to make them into test subjects or something.
“It tells us you’re both very powerful wizards," she continued. "Above-average certainly, which we knew from your initial tests when you joined the Aurors. But more importantly, it tells us about the makeup of your Core magic and your magical signatures.”
“Right,” Harry said before she could go on anymore about how compatible their magical cores were. “So, can you remind me what the scores need to be for us to pass?”
“The overall average must be at least 75%, with no individual part under 60%.”
“So, Potter and I only have to change 40% of our personalities for this to work,” Malfoy commented dryly and if anyone else had said it Harry would have laughed but as it stood he couldn’t give Malfoy the satisfaction.
“Well, yes and no,” Higgins said. “Really, the personality portion should be the easiest for you to change. It’s an indicator of intrapersonal relations more than anything else.”
“You’re saying all Malfoy and I have to do is learn to like each other.”
“Yes,” she said, as though that would be simple. “If I were you, the thing I would worry about is your emergency response indicators. That is what is most concerning to me. Personalities indicators change over time, it’s easy to grow to like someone, our statistics prove that; I’ve been trying to get them to weigh that portion of the test less for ages. The harder thing to change is a person’s gut instinct. It’s harder to change your responses to what’s happening in front of you.”
“Great,” Harry said with a sigh. “Thanks for your time. Anything else we should know?”
“Robards told me to expect to see the two of you at least twice a week to run the tests on your compatibility.”
“Yes, I would like to get our scores up as soon as possible,” Malfoy told her. “I hate desk work. I’m sure Potter can agree with that if nothing else.”
Harry grunted in response, he agreed with him but that didn’t mean he wanted to say it.
“Well,” Malfoy said, “Thank you for your time, Therese. We’ll get out of your hair and leave you to your work so you can get home to that gorgeous baby and rogue of a husband of yours.”
“Bye, Draco,” she said with a smile, then she nodded at Harry, “Auror Potter.”
Harry followed Malfoy out of the room after wishing Higgins a good night. “Why do you do that?” he asked.
“What?” Malfoy returned, glancing over his shoulder at Harry.
“Call everyone by name, know things about them,” he said gesturing vaguely.
Malfoy looked at him like he’d grown two heads, “Why do you think Potter? They’re my coworkers.”
Harry narrowed his eyes at him, surely there was more to it than that.
Malfoy threw his hands up in the air, “Whatever, Potter. I’ve got things to do, I’ll see you in two hours.” He strut away and Harry couldn’t help but be envious of the easy grace the man seemed to exude with each step.
Shaking his head, he made his way to the floos, he had a lot of explaining to do to Hermione and Ron before he had to meet Malfoy in two hours.
