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Oct 21, 2017

I’m Used To It

AO3 Link Here

I made it for a prompt:

Person A: I’m sorry, I almost got us killed.

Person B: I’m used to it.

Anddd ahhhh well, I was planning for a shorter one. LIke funny, fluffy one? And then I got... this baby. And I’m saying this now, I did a bit of research for the spells and stuff. And welllll yeah. So... yeah, enjoy. LOL.

The first time Draco heard the following words from Potter’s mouth, he was livid—Auror robes damp with Hippogriff piss and manure—and praying to all the Hogwarts founders and to the Great Merlin himself that they finally grant Robards the common sense to switch out his partner to another more… effective Auror.

“I’m sorry, I almost got us killed.”

Draco’s already deep frown dived, comically so, that he can almost hear Pansy chortling her ass off at the image. His anger relent, only a tad bit, upon seeing the great Saviour of the Wizarding World flinch under his glare. The offensive stench of shit that came with the minute movement of turning to Potter reigned his ire back in again.

“That was the worst thing that could have happened, Potter,” He spat, making sure to intonate on the consonants of his surname like he used to three years ago, “And what you did came fucking one notch close to it.”

“Look, Malfoy… I’m sorry, okay?” Potter huffed, lower lip jutting out in a sulk. Draco’s glare intensified, and when Potter noticed it, he managed to suck it back in. His hands mashed his own dirty robes into his fists, and the tips of his ears were starting to darken due to the blush settling just beneath his olive skin. “I didn’t know that Apparition by coordinates instead of thinking of a place would land us in a hippogriff stable.”

“And had a greater risk of getting us Splinched! Merlin!”

“Just… I’m sorry, Draco. I’m sorry! Isn’t that enough? We’re alive, we’re okay.” With a roll of his eyes and a blow of air toward his dangerously long fringe, Potter grumbled, “We caught the bad guy too.”

Oh, that brash and happy-go-lucky attitude of Saint Potter really gets to Draco. He looked regretful one second, and now, he’s already bragging about catching the suspect of their investigation! Draco wanted to smash those frames of his up somewhere nice and painful.

Wait, nice? Draco shook his head, willing the obtrusive thoughts away. How idiotic can Potter get? Apparition by coordinates is just too—

“How could you even think of coordinates instead of a place to Apparate to!” Draco now shouted, shocked when his anger-addled brain finally cleared enough to understand Potter’s previous explanation. But by the time this fact registered, his mouth was shooting questions too quickly for his mind to catch up. “Is that even possible? How would you even know what coordinates to think? Why would you even try it in the first place? I’ve never heard of such a method before—and I’ve read books! What books have you read?”

Harry watched Draco stand up from his desk chair, pacing the small space of their shared office, his face evolving from fury to confusion to curiosity. It had always been fun for him to watch the different expressions on his partner’s face—one thing he would never have known if they haven’t been partnered for two years now. When Draco finally faced him, blonde, slender eyebrows pinched in confusion, and eyes as sharp as the steel that coloured them, Harry’s hands were up in mock surrender.

“Do you want me to answer all of those questions? Or just the latter ones?”

The confusion eased to surprise, and Draco felt the blush of embarrassment coming before it set on his neck, cheeks, and ears. Curse the pale skin of his lineage.

“For what it’s worth,” Harry started with a small voice, searching Draco’s face for any sign of bubbling anger, “I decided to try it because, I mean… wasn’t one of the accomplices a Legilimens? We confirmed that, we did. And I didn’t want them to follow. So, uhh… I tried it.” He finished lamely.

Draco was still enraged with Harry and what had happened, but the curiosity to this newfound loophole in Apparition intrigued him, admittedly. The tension in his shoulders seemed to roll off in a sharp exhale, and he looked at Harry blankly, hoping the blush would fade away as well.

“Take a bath, reconvene in 30 minutes. Here.” Draco pointed on the floor between them, eyes narrowing slightly, “We’ll talk about this… discovery of yours, and then do the paperwork for the catch.”

Harry groaned at the mention of the wretched thing, but Draco was already striding toward the door, dragonhide boots squelching and irritating the hell out of him.

“Do cast a cleaning charm before I get back. And order that curry dish I like.” He tossed out with a look back at Harry’s wary face, before shutting the door completely. He swore he heard the wanker sigh in relief behind him, and Draco couldn’t help but smirk at that.

The second time heard those words, Draco could feel the start of a migraine form at the back of his right eye. The accompanying eyelid twitched too, and he wasn’t blaming the lack of proper sleep for the past 72 hours due to their stake out. Successful as it was, there was not enough coffee, however, to stop Draco from throwing curses at the perp who chose to hole up in a dingy hotel. Half a day later, Robards tells them that they have to attend the scheduled exercises for the newly recruited Aurors.

No, not “attend”—as Draco would grumble at 7 am in the morning, watching the naïve gits cast half-assed hexes and crumbling Protegos—“babysit” would be the more appropriate term. And really, with Harry Bloody Potter mixed into the equation, Draco could have drowned in coffee all the cafes around the fucking block could offer, and still, he would not be ready for what was to happen next.

Of course, Potter, the ever-beloved Hero, would be enticed by the recruits to tell them a story about the War. It wasn’t much of a sore spot for them now, but it still left Draco with this breathtaking mass between his ribs when mentioned. Harry has them too, he suspects, with the way his easy smile tightened slightly at the corners, and his hands jerking a millisecond before relaxing again.

No one noticed but Draco, and, Merlin, wasn’t that something he should be looking into a bit more? But Draco shrugs it away, cramming it deep back down to the recesses of his mind, closing his eyes and resting his head on the wall.

He was sitting near the door of the training room, arms folded against his chest, and his cup of coffee Levitating by his side. If he gets to have Potter do all the babysitting, telling stories and all that tripe, then Draco might as well catch on that sleep he’s been deprived of. He waves his wand toward his cup, Levitating it to land on the table next to him, and he did a subtle Mufflatio around his ears for good measure too.

That should have been his cue to realize that not everything goes well when he leaves Potter alone to his own ridiculously unlucky devices. Fifteen seconds later, a dull explosion pierces through his charm, and Draco sits up, startled, to find a chimera made of angry flames steadily engulfing half of the room. The initial boulder hit the pit of his stomach at such a garish reminder of Vince and the war that Draco wasn’t able to think for a whole three seconds. His eyes took up the scene before him—Aurors crying in fear, crawling back, away from the caster of the spell. The caster looking both amazed and terrified at the emerging beast from his wand, and Harry—

Harry was shouting at the recruits—mindlessly numbed with fear at seeing Fiendfyre—and was yelling for Draco too at the same time.

“Draco!” Harry called again, but it was stifled by the charm around the blonde’s ears. He was casting an order of spells that Draco couldn’t understand, and it somehow blocked the beast from moving forward.

His emerald eyes were wide in alarm, in fear, and in recognition. This was what pulled Draco into action. Without much conscious thought, Draco leapt from the chair, hauled some of the recruits by their arms, and turned on the spot.

They stumbled on green grass—the park outside the Ministry, his subconscious sufficiently provided. He waved his wand again on himself to cancel the charm, spared a glare at the fumbling Aurors in training, and turned again to Apparate back to the training room. The beast was now in its full form, taking up half of the training room—the room was huge, as long as half of of the Great Hall, but with lower ceilings—and he was briefly astounded by the magical strength of the recruit to have produced such a beast.

Harry stood in front of the unconscious caster and two other Aurors who were cowering behind the man, trying to haul their colleague up. Sodding wankers, Draco thought viciously as he ran for them and cast a weight-reducing charm on the boy’s body.

“Move! Now!” He snarled, eyes flitting from furious to alarm as he glanced back and forth at the three recruits and the chimera. The two recruits nodded at Draco, tears streaming down their faces, and they carried the boy out of the room.

Draco, without the charm and standing all too close next to Harry, could hear his partner muttering spells over and over again. Sweat began to trickle down his spine, and he felt the wave of heat curling around him. Harry’s hair was damp across his forehead, but he didn’t seem to notice or mind due to his concentration. It was effective enough to enclose the flames, but Draco knew better.

“Harry!” Draco shouted through the bellows of the flame beast, agitated by the barrier growing around it, “We need to cast the charm to stop it! Even the great Harry Potter’s barrier won’t hold long enough!”

“Are the kids safe?” Harry asked without looking away from the fire, and then resumed repeating the spells—Protego Horribilis. Fianto Duri. Repello Inicimum.

Draco was almost too shocked to answer right away, “Kids! Potter, they’re adults—Oh, bollocks. Yes! Yes, they’re fucking fine! Do the charm with me!”

Standing side by side, and after a three-count by Draco, Harry brought down the barrier and they both cast the cease charm for the fire. It put up a fight, and Draco was almost sure that he might see burned flesh reflected back at him in the mornings, but Harry must have pushed all of that Saviour power in the spell, and they were left with a half-charred training room instead.

After the clean-up and reprimand from Robards, Draco was ready to strangle Harry when the sentence tumbled out of his lips again.

“I’m sorry, I almost got us killed.”

His migraine went from piercing to throbbing and pounding under a second, and Draco was ready to throw whatever Hex he can think of. Robards be damned. They might as well throw him in Azkaban now.

“We could have died!” He shouted instead, waving his hands in the air frantically, glaring at Harry but feeling the panic slowly seeping in, “We could have been burned by that! Third degree! Could have killed us! L-like Vince…”

Draco trailed off, and Harry suddenly looked up at him, eyebrows shooting up in concern and mouth opening and closing pathetically. The panic was swept away by the hollow feeling, the dread, of reliving those moments again. Of seeing the Fiendfyre come back to life and haunt Draco outside of his dreams. He felt his fury building up again, and he cast a baleful glance at Harry’s tense form.

“Why teach that spell, Potter! That bloody spell, out of all the spells—Merlin! Didn’t Granger teach you better?” With a shaky breath, Draco began to ask in a carefully clipped voice, “How many times do you think I’ve seen Vince being engulfed by fire? How many times should that make my knees wobble and my chest constrict? You insensitive berk.”

When Harry moved toward him, raising a hand to console him, Draco slapped away with his, glaring at Harry’s tired face. At the set of his jaw, at the emptiness of his eyes, at the whitening of his lips as he mashed them together in a straight line. Draco knew that Harry was reliving the same thing. That Harry was there. That may be Harry dreams about Vince burning or something else entirely about that cruel night in the Room of Requirements.

Draco knew—but he chose to turn around, walk toward the door of their office, and ignore Harry’s pleas to talk to him along the way. He reached the door and opened it, turning half-way to stare at the floor, all the anger inside him receding to that familiar emptiness he used to feel after the War.

“Too many times, Potter. I don’t need my nightmares appearing in real life.” He murmured, shutting the door behind him.

As the elevator rang and signalled his arrival at the ground floor of the Ministry, the doors opened to reveal the same group of recruits standing across the hallway. There were eleven of them, now that Draco had the attention span to count their arses. They all looked up just in time to see Draco narrow his eyes at them, before he strode past the group with a flick of his robes.

“Auror Malfoy, sir! Please!” They called out, and Draco pulled every calming fibre in his being to stop in his tracks. He could feel the deep temptation to hex them, so he stood his ground and did not turn to see their sorry faces. No need to fuel the fire.

There was some shuffling as they caught up, the fountain gushing behind them in a steady stream of water. It was well past 6 in the evening, and there would only be stragglers from their department at this time of day. The Unspeakables were another thing, but they rarely show up anyways. Their whispers echoed throughout the hall, and the migraine that had already faded was starting up again.

“If you have nothing important to say, best we leave—”

“We’re sorry.” A girl piped up, and there was shuffling again of robes and boots. “We’re sorry, Auror Malfoy, sir. We didn’t mean to do it.”

Draco sighed, shifting his weight on one leg and clamping a hand on his hip. “If there was anyone to blame, it’s us. It is, especially, Auror Potter’s fault for even thinking of teaching—”

The slew of responses began battering at Draco that he had a bit of a hard time listening to them. He slowly turned around to look at the group, gesturing as they talked, explaining what had happened.

“No, sir! He didn’t teach us—”

“We only wanted to see what a Fiendfyre would look like—”

“—and if the stories were true—”

“—Auror Potter warned us not to—”

“But I knew the spell—” Draco remembered the caster’s features, and the boy bit his lip hard upon the admission. He was cut off easily by the others though.

“Auror Potter tried to stop him. See, he didn’t want to tell us about what happened during that night.”

“It’s as if he doesn’t want to talk about it at all. But we were curious.”

“It was our fault, sir. And we’re very sorry for getting our superiors in trouble. We tried going to Head Auror Robards—”

“But the secretary won’t even let us in!”

Another chorus of apologies erupted, and Draco turned to them fully, waving his hand, “Stop! Stop! It’s okay. Everything’s fine.” He sighed again, massaging his temples with his thumb and middle finger and closed his eyes. “So Harry—Auror Potter didn’t teach you the spell?”

“No!” They all exclaimed, and then added almost at the same time, “Sir.”

“I knew the charm to stop the fire, sir.” The caster confided, glancing at Draco then back down at the floor, “But I have never tried to cast the Fiendfyre, so I wasn’t aware of its toll on my magic.”

“Yes, the amount of power required with that spell is enormous. Both to start it and to maintain it. How could you even know—” With another heavy exhale, Draco signalled the boy to come closer with two fingers. He complied, standing an arm’s length away from him.

“Do not do that again, do you hear me?” In a quick motion, he flicked the boy’s forehead, earning a hiss and a wince from all of them. It was a satisfying and resounding THWACK and it made Draco smirk momentarily before schooling his features.

He addressed all of them, a stern scowl in place, “Now go, write up a report on this and send it to my office first thing. The effects of Fiendfyre, spells that could contain it, and what proper actions should be done when it happens.”

“Yes, sir!” They all responded, small smiles on their faces, and Draco was pleased. For now.

The guilt in storming off and accusing Harry of teaching the spell overpowered this feeling of pleasure from connecting with the recruits, and Draco did a quick Tempus to check the time. He had to think fast and to think hard on what would be the quickest yet most effective take out place to make up with his partner.

“And then! And then!” Ron Weasley guffaws, slapping his reddened palm on his knee a couple more times, tears starting to form at the corner of his eyes. His hair and his cheeks were already at a contest of which looks more ginger, but Draco merely rolls his eyes and smirks instead of calling him out for it. Weasley’s not laughing at him, Weasley’s laughing with him this time. And that feels bloody fucking brilliant to him.

After a ragged inhale and a quick swig of his beer, he points to Draco, face contorting as his grin fights the bitterness down his throat, “And then what did he tell you, Malfoy? Go on! Tell them!”

Draco’s gaze swept around the table of off-duty Aurors, wide eyes and easy smiles, anticipating Draco’s answer. Weasley sat across him. Auror Jenkins sat at Weasley’s left with his glass of Firewhisky. Auror Perez, Jenkins’ partner, sat between him and Draco, nursing the same bottle of beer as Weasley. And, finally, Harry, Draco’s partner, slowly looking put out at being the butt of the joke, was sitting between Draco and Weasley’s other side. He took a long gulp of his beer, scowling at Ron’s raucous laughter.

Despite the frustration of the day’s case, Draco was feeling giddy. They caught the perp, Robards praised them—if you call a curt ‘Keep it up, gentlemen’ a valid praise—and Potter managed to not kill them after the operation.

Although, it was pretty close, seeing as how Harry thought it was wise to cast a cleaning charm after being drenched with an unidentifiable liquid. The perp was brewing a strong love potion, peddling it on the streets, and causing a break of hysteria within the first 48 hours of ingestion. It was on their robes because of the scuffle to arrest the wanker.

Draco caught Harry’s wrist, thank Merlin, but the charm already left his wand and struck Draco’s sleeve. The combination of spell and potion caused the substance to eat through the material of his robes like acid. Lucky for Draco, the Auror robes were not hard to take off, and he simply slid them off, throwing them toward the ground. The initial ire bubbled inside, but as he turned to Harry, he saw how his partner’s face had crumpled as he watched the robes quickly disintegrate within next few seconds

Without saying anything at all, Harry suddenly grabbed Draco’s arm and hauled him close to his body. He enveloped him in a fierce embrace, and Draco felt Harry’s shoulder’s trembling when he had the sense to try and push him away. Something warm and liquid settled in Draco’s stomach as he rubbed his partner’s back, listening to him breathe deeply. He heard Harry whisper that familiar sentence in his ear, he could feel the tips of Harry’s lips brushing the shell, and a sudden shiver ran down his spine.

“I’m sorry, I almost got us killed.” Draco repeated, and that got the usual amused and exasperated reactions from the Aurors with them. But Draco was still at that moment in the warehouse, still in Harry’s embrace.

When they broke apart eighteen seconds later—yes, Draco kept count—Harry wouldn’t look at him, only apologized, and walked toward the exit of the warehouse. They didn’t talk about that incident, even as they sat in their office, desks facing one another. Even as Weasley knocked on their door, reminding them of their scheduled drinks after work. Even as they are sitting right next to each other right now, both nursing their own glasses of poison.

Harry glanced at Draco, the swirl of laughter and chatter in the pub as their background, and held his gaze when Draco met them. Something in those bottle-green eyes flashed, and Draco felt that shiver running down his spine again. He could still feel the curve of Harry’s shoulders against his own, the warmth of Harry’s chest against his chest, and he could still bring up the scent of Harry’s aftershave—minty, with a hint of lemongrass.

When he felt that liquid warmth pool toward his groin, Draco cleared his throat and looked away, breaking the spell. He pushed off the edge of the table, and threw some bills on it, “Sorry gents, have to leave and do some… paperwork.”

“You’re no fun, Malfoy.” Weasley muttered, shaking his head as he drank from his bottle, “Too early to do paperwork, yeah? Fuck Robards.”

Draco clicked his tongue twice, throwing a two-finger salute at the round of protests, “And may you enjoy that wondrous shag, Weasel. But I shall have to pass.”

Laughter erupted again as Ron rolled his eyes at the old nickname, and Draco made sure he would not look at Harry as he turned around to leave. This problematic attraction had been playing in the background for him for far too long, and it would not bode well for either of them when—if Draco chooses to act on it. He doesn’t even know if Harry swings that way. He did tell Draco a bit about the end his relationship with the Weseallete, still, Draco had not seen a potential Mr. or Mrs. Potter hanging around since then. It’s not like they were close enough to discuss such matters, anyway, right? They only got past the ex-nemesis part after their first year of being partners, and now, a year later, he’s finding Potter… attractive?

Draco scowled, tugging his coat on as he stepped out of the autumn cold. He mashed his hands inside the pockets of his jacket, teeth chattering at the piercing chill. He knew how cold the weather gets at this time of the year, and he regrets not bringing thicker garments knowing Weasley scheduled this pub night tonight. The steam from his mouth as he sighed curled into the air briefly before vanishing, and Draco began walking to the Apparition point in the alley nearby.

“Hey, Malfoy.”

Draco jumped and turned around, startled to see Potter standing at the entrance of the alley with a small smile on his face. He noticed that no one came with him, and Draco felt the prickle of dread—it was definitely not anticipation—starting on his neck. He swallowed, breathing through his nose to calm himself, and prayed to Merlin that Harry didn’t notice the blush on his cheeks. Draco sure felt them. If he did notice, he could just blame the whisky.

“Hey, Potter. Leaving early too?”

Harry shook his head, approaching Draco slowly, the scrape of his boots sounded too loud to Draco’s ears. He had his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie, the grey fabric stretching over his shoulders and biceps.

Yes, he has noticed that the scrawny boy of his Hogwarts years had filled out quite nicely. How could he not when they’ve been hitting the gym and fighting witches and wizards twice their size? Side by side? Harry was not bulky, but he was not as slender as Draco. The way Harry’s broadened shoulders would show a bit of muscle when he grabs a suspect, or the way his calves bunched up as he tightened his whole body to spring into a run, or the way his tanned skin glistened with sweat after a rough fight—of course Draco would notice them! He wasn’t fucking blind!

But just as with every little new thing he found out about Harry—how he liked his tea with three spoons of sugar, how he flaps the feather of his quill on his neck when he’s concentrating, how he always visits his godson during the weekends with a boxes of chocolate frogs—Draco filed all of those in the drawer of his mind labelled ‘Never Revisit Again’.

“Okay there, Draco?”

The use of his given name made him look at Harry sharply, and it was only then he noticed how close he now was. If Draco breathed as deep as he could, he would be able to feel Harry’s chest again, just like this morning. But his breaths were starting to go shallow and fast, staring at those sparkling green eyes behind the new square-shaped glasses. He tried to take a step back, but thought better of it. He was not someone so easily intimidated.

“What are you doing, Potter?” He hissed, eyes darting toward the busy London street yards away from where they stood, “Go back to Weasley if you’re not planning to go home.”

“I just wanted to try something, Malfoy. Been dying to all this time.”

“All this time? What are you saying, you—”

Harry’s lips captured Draco in a tentative yet firm kiss, hands landing on Draco’s hips. The brunette pushed Draco back a little, and the other man obliged with a step back, still shocked at the turn of events. Pleasantly shocked, if he would be honest. But he’s not entirely, especially to himself. After a moment, Harry pulled back, those eyes too deep up close that Draco could actually feel like he’s about to fall into them. He searched something in Draco’s face, but the small grimace said that he didn’t seem to find it.

With a chuckle and quick smile, Harry let go of Draco, and the blonde almost stumbled back to the wall. Words began tumbling from Harry’s mouth—the mouth that was on Draco’s own just seconds ago—and he was stepping away from Draco, hands tightly intertwined. “Was probably wrong. Sorry if I made things awkward. Just… just forget about it, okay? Sorry.”

Draco stood there, stunned, and as Harry started to turn away, something snapped inside him, and he found himself reaching for Harry’s wrist—just in time again, thank Merlin. The man had the decency to reflect the same shock as Draco felt, but Draco was too preoccupied feeling Harry’s soft, beautiful lips with his own to care. Of course, Harry Freakin Potter would bounce back quicker than Draco did, and they were soon enveloped in a searing kiss, open and hungry.

Hands grasping Harry’s shoulders firmly, Draco pushed against him, using his whole body to turn both of them and pin Harry on the wall behind him. He let out a moan when Harry’s wide, warm hands roamed his back and cupped his arse. Harry groaned when he felt Draco’s erection brush his thigh.

“Fuck, Potter. Wait.” Draco gasped, leaning away from Harry with difficulty. The movement only prompted the other man to lick, kiss, and suck on Draco’s neck instead, and really, leaning away didn’t seem as difficult now. “No, no, wait. Harry, please.”

The sound of his name made Harry stop and lean his head on the wall, his hands still latched onto Draco’s arse possessively. Draco felt his cock twitch at that, and he was sure he was about to come any second with the friction of Harry’s thigh against it.

“My flat. Side-along.” He kissed Harry again, tongues merging, teeth scraping Harry’s bottom lip. It was then Draco felt the familiar tug in his stomach, the twist of the world around him and himself, the nauseating push and pull of magic—and then he landed on the carpet of his living room, Harry still clinging onto him.

“Fuck!” Draco exclaimed, pushing the man off of him as he looked down on himself—safe, nothing Splinched—and subsequently glared at the flushed, gasping specimen before him, “Harry! What the fuck!”

The brunette looked confused, and he surveyed the surroundings, as if he thought Draco was raging about getting the place wrong. “You said your flat, right?”

“Yes! But Apparating while getting my tongue down your throat is a sure way to get us Splinched!”

It was as if Harry only realized then the risks of what he did, and he gave Draco a once over, face concerned and serious, “Are you okay?”

“Merlin! I’m bloody fantastic!” Draco shouted, stomping over to his sofa and sitting there with a huff, “You almost got us killed. Again!”

Harry walked over and sat at the opposite side, obviously deflated from the previous high he was experiencing with his partner practically plastered on him. He tried opening his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. The blonde, on the other hand, had more time to think without the man of his recent wank fantasies coming to life and smothering him with kisses. He turned to Harry, narrowing his eyes and deftly crossing his arms over his chest. So what if his erection was now glaringly obvious by the tenting of his trousers. Potter’s wasn’t any better and—oh, Salazar, he looked big.

Shaking his head to rid of the mad thoughts in his head, Draco cleared his throat to get Harry’s attention. Of course, Harry’s gaze zeroed in on Draco’s groin, but he tactfully did not comment on it. He looked a bit pleased, the git, and Draco had the urge to sock his smug smile off.

He started with, “What brought this on?”

Harry’s smile faltered, and he sighed, his elbow rested on the arm of the couch and his chin went on his palm, “So we’re not going with the sex first, and then the talk? I was hoping I could eat your famous French toast, too.”

He means to stay in the morning—“I am not going to touch any part of you, nor you of me, if you don’t tell me what… this is. So get to it, Potter.”

“Harry. Just call me Harry.”

When Draco didn’t answer, Harry sighed again, and waved his dismissively, “I just realized something is all.”

“Realized something?” Draco echoed, an elegant eyebrow arching.

Harry groaned, burying his face now into both his palms, elbows resting on his knees. He slid his palms a bit wider to talk, but it still sounded slightly muffled. “I realized that I was too… attracted to my partner to function properly and… and I… I wanted to just get things over with before I explode.”

Draco felt his hands curling into fists, eyes narrowing further as he felt his fury slowly building up, “Get things over with? So… what? You’re expecting to get a shag, and be done with it? With me?”

“No! Christ, Draco, no!” Harry cried out, standing up suddenly and taking a step toward his partner, “That’s not… That’s not what I meant! I-I’m not good with… words. You know that.”

Harry slumped down next to Draco on the couch, knuckles white as his hands clamped viciously around each other. His shoulders were hunched, and Draco swallowed at the memory of his hands grabbing onto them early on. He tried to focus, however, knowing how important to get any bullshit out of the way first. His eyes were still startlingly green even with the dim light the moon was giving in Draco’s living room. They glistened as Harry stared at Draco, Adam’s apple bobbing with his own swallow. He looked away, biting his lip.

“I just wanted to… to see. If I kissed you, would you kiss me back? If I do get the chance to… fuck you,” Draco trembled at the way Harry’s voice dipped low at the word, feeling the jerk of arousal with his half-hard cock, “Would you let me stay until dawn?”

Draco stared at Harry’s tense jaw for a moment, debating his answer and course of action from there. When the man snuck a peek at Draco, however, and those beautiful eyes caught his again, he felt a cog click in place inside of him. “We’re partners, Harry. If Robards knew…”

“Then I’ll ask for a transfer, if need be.” Harry answered sharply, slowly turning toward Draco now, “Or throw my weight around, for once, in that blasted office, and demand them to look the other way. We’re damn good Aurors, Draco. And they need us. Together.”

“And what about your friends?”

“Hermione and Ron already knows. Christ, they’ve been harassing me for years now to just go up and shag you senseless because they can’t stand another word of from me about you.”

“Since when?”

“Since we saw each other applying for the program.” Harry frowned, eyebrow raising in thought, “No, probably since Sixth Year.”

When Draco’s eyebrows shot up, Harry unclasped his hands and lifted it at chest level, “I thought you were a right twat, yeah, but I couldn’t help but notice that you looked… nice.”

“And the Weasellete?”

“It was then I started to come to terms with my… bisexuality.” Harry shrugged, pushing his glasses up with a finger, “Ginny told me I was silly for thinking that she would be angry about it. We dated, but we broke it off after a month into training.”

“Because of me?” Draco asked in a small voice. He only noticed then how he’d relaxed his stance, his hands were now lying on his lap, although he was leaning a bit on the arm of the couch to maintain distance, watching Harry with caution. It was too good to be true, right?

“And because of Luna.” Harry smirked, his eyes flashing again with the same intensity Draco saw back at the pub, “Shocking how we have a thing for blondes.”

It was Draco’s turn to entwine his fingers together, feeling and seeing the blood drain from the tips as he held them taut. He did not want to have his worries ruin this, but it was best to lay things out in the open, Draco reasons. With an even smaller voice, cracking at the question in the end, he asked, “Why now?”

A hand landed on his knee, and he followed the trail of the forearm to arm to shoulder to neck, halting at Harry’s face. He felt that liquid warmth filling his gut again. Harry looked at him—really looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time, and Draco was at a loss for words.

“Back at the warehouse… I did something stupid. I wasn’t careful. I wasn’t…” He sighed, looking away then back again to Draco, “When I watched those robes turning to nothing in mere seconds, in my mind, I was thinking, what if I casted it on… on you?”

He heard Harry’s voice choke at that, but Draco stayed still, silent. “I know we’ve had our differences. And we did get past them—not easily, I might add—but we did. I can’t… I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done before.” He finished in a hush.

A moment of heavy silence settled around them, and faces of the dead and the living flashed in their minds—different times, different faces, the same war. Harry’s hand squeezed Draco’s knee, and Draco looked up to find his partner staring back.

“We have lost a lot on what had happened. I’m not saying we move on, but we should learn from it. I know you did learn from it, Draco. I’ve seen it.” Harry proclaimed strongly, jaw set as if he was challenging Draco to counter him. “We’ve lost so many, and when I… when I saw those robes… I realized. I realized that I’ve waited long enough. That if I keep waiting, I might lose you too.”

Draco felt his chest crack open, a gush of air swooping from his nostrils down to his lungs, and as much as he felt like he couldn’t breathe, he also felt like he has never breathed so freely in his lifetime.

“Was that too serious?” Harry asked, biting those deliciously curvy lips, “Sorry, made things awkward again—”

With a deft shove, Draco had Harry lying on his back, already ravaging that sinful mouth of his with own. When Harry gasped, Draco took that chance to push his tongue in, and they both groaned as Harry met his. Hands stared roving again, and Draco slipped his under Harry’s shirt, feeling that toned stomach like he always wanted to ever since he saw Harry topless in the locker room. Harry had his hands cupping Draco’s arse again, pushing and pulling the globes together then apart that made Draco moan low. Draco’s hands went up higher, and he pinched Harry’s nipples with his thumbs and forefingers. Harry arched at that, spine bowing off the couch, a gasp escaping his lips.

Draco straddled Harry’s thighs, their erections jerking into full alert at the contact, and Harry growled, sitting up against Draco. He pulled Draco’s legs and tugged them around his waist, placed Draco’s arms on his shoulders, and finally put one arm around Draco’s back and the other arm under his buttocks.

“Hold onto me.” He whispered, and when he felt Draco tighten his grip around him, Harry stood up, lifting Draco with a grunt, “We’re going to the bedroom now. Is your lube in the top drawer?”

For some reason, Harry’s intimate knowledge of Draco’s flat made him grin like a maniac. He bit and suck on Harry’s neck while he was being carried toward the said room, answering with a short, “Yes.”

He felt Harry’s grin on his cheek, and the rumble of his laugh came first before he heard it. “Pervert. Do you wank first thing and then right before you sleep?”

“With such a delectable partner who’s around me five times a week, 8 hours a day or more, I need to be prepared.”

A gust of a laugh left Harry as he walked toward the bedroom. He stopped just before entering though, and Draco leaned away to ask what made him stop. He saw Harry biting his lip again, and he can’t seem to look at Draco.

“I know you’re tired of hearing this but…” He exhaled, and finally green met silver, crooked grin curving on his face that made the apology seem unnecessary, “I’m sorry, I almost got us killed.”

Draco laughed and kissed Harry again, fingers entangling themselves with Harry’s nest of hair. He paused for air, whispering against Harry’s lips.

“I’m used to it.”

#drarry #one shot #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #prompt #ao3 #felt compelled to write this out #or else i'll go mad #well #more mad #so #yeah #draco malfoy #harry potter

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