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shockcity · 7 years

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HP#1 - Fugitives

Rating: E

Summary: Malfoy runs. Harry follows.

Category: M/M

Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Warnings: none

Note: this was written three years ago based on a prompt (that I cannot for the life of me find) that asked for public nudity, a sexual identity crisis, and hand cuffs. Somehow this is what came of it.

.................................

The dossier of his current field assignment sat in a beige, nondescript folder, a bright red redacted stamped at the top. It was laughing at him, probably. Everyone was laughing at him today.

Crinkled on top of it was a letter from Ron, who expressed his disappointment that Harry could not meet for their regular pub night. Robards’ memo, which initially inspired this awful assignment, lay harmlessly next to a zen garden Hermione had given him last Christmas and which Harry stuck quills in sometimes.

He groaned and dropped his head into his hands, feeling his cheeks warm with fury and embarrassment. If he wasn't sharing a cubicle with Ernie, he would have tossed the folder, his unfinished paperwork, his cold tea from this morning, hell, his entire desk across the room. Just imagining it was supremely satisfying.

As it was, no amount of stress relief was worth Ernie's complaining. He had a headache, and he'd murder a cuppa, but his debriefing had left him sick to his stomach and unable to countenance even moving an inch.

"Yes sir, that's right."

"And you were– distracted. Distracted, Potter?"

"Right, sir."

Robards looked distinctly unimpressed. "You mean to say, that you had him cornered, allowed yourself to be distracted by– what was it? Repeat it for me, Potter."

"An owl, sir."

"An owl. Was the letter that important?"

Harry fidgeted. "It was a wild owl, sir."

Robards blinked. "Right. Yes. So while you fell to pieces, Malfoy dropped the roof on your head and buggered off."

"The owl was very aggressive, sir."

"Potter." Robards scratched his eyebrow tiredly. "Answer this for me, alright? Why exactly did this department give you an assignment by yourself? After only a year of training?"

Harry didn't answer for so long that Robards turned purple and went ahead and answered himself. "There's something in the water. We've all gone mad. I will investigate this matter and you will retrain. "

He paused there as if to wait for Harry's objection, but Harry kept mum. "You will retrain," Robards repeated. "And then you will find Malfoy and bring him to Azkaban, where he bloody well belongs."

The shouting was a dismissal, so Harry went ahead and ran out of his office as quick as he could. The long walk back to his desk was filled with a heavy silence and many averted eyes. He would never hear the end of this.

And if office gossip wasn't bad enough, the owl incident and the whole 'felled by a barn' thing would be immortalised in writing through standard paperwork. He couldn't even afford to put it off for when he wasn't so done-in, given that Robards was this close to sacking him. Delaying paperwork would be the straw that broke the camel's back, indeed.

So Harry sat down at his desk and sulkily filled out the humiliating (and partially fictional) details. He would be the first to admit he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, nor very creative with his lies, but his owl excuse was beyond stupid, even for him.

The truth was that much worse, though.

He did not touch Malfoy's folder, which he had poured over for days before this awful, complete disaster of a mission. If he opened it now, he would only have to see the top sheet, which included a transcript of Harry's defense of Malfoy during his trial, and a 'Burned Down His Office' story would be added to the no-doubt already legendary 'Roof Dropped on Head' and 'Scared by an Owl' parable.

Ernie had gone home, having heard about the incident (from most of the office, though it had possibly reached Games and Sports by now and those pillocks might have told him about it while laughing their stupid heads off), and thankfully had only said, "You had better pass your retesting.” Harry didn't doubt that he would pass. Though it didn't make reporting for it any less embarrassing.

They had him in target practice first, shortly followed by the maze-like obstacle course he had passed with bells on during his recruitment days. The silly psychology test they put him through was as irritating as usual, and the Piss My Pants level's extremely malicious boggart had luckily not transformed from Dementors to a leering Malfoy. There were bets from spectators that his biggest fear had changed into a particularly hacked off screech owl, but whatever.

Harry did well, though. He was not the top of his class for nothing, and he was not the most valuable Auror just because of his unwanted political clout. Harry passed each test quite easily, much to the displeasure of Savage, who liked no one and especially didn’t like Harry.

"Healer's here, Potter," Savage sneered, handing him his scorecard.

"What for?" Harry gaped, face reddening.

"Scared of birds, aren't you? Higher ups want to make sure you aren't drinking funny potions or sommat."

As humiliating as it was, the report that Harry was not a potions-abuser made him a trifle less embarrassed. His colleagues wouldn't need to fear any incompetence due to substance abuse, that was for sure. Then he remembered why the test came about in the first place, and sort of wished it were true. Perhaps a mind-altering potion would explain what had happened with Malfoy– because Harry reckoned it was either a case of sabotage or...he really had gone off his nut.

____________________

"I know you're there," Malfoy said, inching into the shadows of the barn. A few roosting owls glared down at them, looking rather murderous. "I've had you bastards after me for months. But you're quieter than most– I'll give you that."

Harry waited. Snow clung to his knees and seeped through his boots. It pooled from the doorway in great dunes and sprinkled his hair with snowflakes. It was bloody cold and he'd been following Malfoy for three hours.

Keeping to the dark corners, he inched closer and quietly begged himself not to respond. This was difficult; Malfoy had always riled him up easily. "Are we going to play this game then? What if I run? Will you follow?"

He slunk over to the nearest cubby, just beneath the hay loft. "You smell like woodsmoke," Malfoy said casually, his wand twitching. "Woodsmoke and...lavender?"

Which was Ernie's hand lotion. Ponce, Harry thought, rolling his eyes. He hated lavender.

"Lovely," Malfoy suddenly laughed. "Come to get me smelling like your gran." Ernie was so dead- "Bet she could catch me instead, since you're having so much trouble."

Harry was unmoved. Malfoy had nothing on Greyback’s creepy smelling/commentary, and Harry had captured him too. "I'm bored now," murmured Malfoy, before he spun around to cast his first spell. It was off, and purely meant to draw him out, but Harry drove forward anyway.

His first shots, a stunning and a disarming, hit Malfoy's hasty shield. The third was stronger, a dark grey curse designed to cause a quick shock of pain and paralysis, which made Malfoy cry out. He scrambled away, the curse having hit the remnants of his shield, and turned into Harry's disarming spell. His wand went flying, and with smug nostalgia– Harry caught it.

And then things got a bit strange.

Malfoy rammed into Harry's side and brought them sprawling to the ground. Surprised, Harry's lax fingers let go of his and Malfoy's wands as they grappled with each other. Harry managed to jab his elbow into Malfoy's neck before he was forcefully pinned down. Returning the favour with an enraged howl, Malfoy’s knuckles crashed into Harry's jaw. The snow melting under his back and sinking through his robes shocked him as much as Malfoy's fist had.

"You– " the man grunted, and then stopped. "You– Potter?"

Harry kicked him in the thigh before attempting to rise from the floor. Malfoy knocked him down again, uncomfortably, for Harry was now twisted on his side and Malfoy was straddling him. "It is you, Potter! They sent you! After me! " Malfoy crowed, blood on his chin. "I'm flattered."

"You hit like a bloody girl," Harry snarled.

"At least I don't smell like one," Malfoy smirked.

Harry flung out his arm for his wand and it clattered toward him. He dug the tip into Malfoy's neck, whose eyes widened with something like appreciation. "Always the goody-goody, Potter. Don't you ever get tired of playing the hero?"

"Shut up," Harry growled, his lips already forming the stunning spell.

Daringly, Malfoy slapped his wand to the side, its tip grazing his ear, and said, "I haven't seen you in a few years, Potter. You were scrawny and ugly then. What did you do?" He leaned in. "You look good."

Taken completely aback, Harry shot his stunner and missed. Malfoy dove for his wand, narrowly avoiding Harry's blasting curse. "Come on," Malfoy poked. "Say I let you catch me after we fuck?"

In a wordless rage, Harry shot off a silent cutting curse that ricocheted off of Malfoy's shield. The spell hit the rafters, where the owls took off, screeching. One of them swooped down, claws aimed at Harry's head. He dodged, barely, just as Malfoy blasted the worn wood above him. Dust flew, and he lunged to the side as the planks fell. Harry was caught unawares as Malfoy forewent his wand again and tackled him.

They tousled on the floor, and Harry fought wildly, his face hot with frustration. Malfoy, though, seemed almost gleeful as they wrestled. Harry tried to Confound him, but he laughed and wrapped an arm around Harry's neck. He kicked out and Malfoy's laughter cut off with a faint oof.

Harry stood, swinging around and raising his wand.

Malfoy, who had hopped to his feet with a little bounce, lunged forward and wrapped an arm around Harry, turning him around violently. He flailed and almost fell, but Malfoy held him up by the waist. He grabbed Harry's hair in a harsh tug, stretching his neck back painfully– and kissed him.

It was a good kiss. Harry couldn't lie about that. All the firmness missing from girl kisses was there. All the possession even Ginny could not replicate was clear in the way that Malfoy pulled at him while holding him securely by the waist. Harry was appalled to feel Malfoy harden on his thigh. Appalled that he had a matching stiffy. For a bloke. For his childhood nemesis. Who was kissing him.

He came to his senses and shot off a stunner, but Malfoy agilely danced away, flinging an unknown curse back at him that he quickly dodged. "Bit premature, Potter. I hadn't even opened your trousers yet."

Harry yelled in anger and flung a practiced arsenal Malfoy's way. The man's eyes rounded as he dodged, shielded and reflected. He panted as Harry moved forward, dueling offensively with a casual brilliance that made Malfoy smile with satisfaction.

"Now you're dueling, Pott– " he stuttered as he slipped on Harry's freezing curse, and Harry tied him up immediately.

Standing over him, his lips grown cold after Malfoy's rather wet kiss, Harry aimed his wand right between his eyes. "I should do the world a favour and kill you," he spat.

Malfoy sneered, his arms crossed over his chest as if he were bound in a straitjacket. "Next time you see me, I might let you. After I shag you, of course."

"There won't be any shagging–"

"Yes there will. You need a thorough shagging, and admit it, we’d make a lovely sight. You're exactly my type, and I'm probably yours, considering I'm devastatingly handsome. Really, Potter, we've too much unresolved sexual tension to not be shagging."

"You're a loony," Harry gritted out, surprised to find that he was hurt as well as angry. "And a criminal. After I vouched for you, you go and...." He shook his head.

"Needs must, Potty," Malfoy said with a scowl. "Maybe next time I'll explain how even your vouching for me couldn't prevent my decline in circumstance. It's purely a social issue, really quite fascinating."

"There won't be a next time," Harry snapped.

Malfoy grinned. "There always is, for us," he said.

Harry scowled. "Stup–"

"Bombarda!"

And the barn came down on Harry's head.

_____________

His flat was dark and quiet. It hadn't bothered him before, but tonight he felt lonely and out of sorts.

For a man who was only twenty-four and at the prime of his life, Harry's home was decidedly matronly. He wasn't one for much furniture, and clutter made him nervous. Everything had its place in his flat, from his boots (which he’d tugged off and deposited by the fireplace) to his cloaks (in the cupboard, organized by most necessary: reinforced, casual, and severe weather safe).

There was a bowl of fruit on his kitchen table, a vague landscape of Cornwall over the box, and pale green curtains to go with his pale gold walls. His bed was made, his socks all knotted– his metaphorical ducks all in a row. Everything had its rightful place.

Yet Harry had never felt more lost.

He was restless, and weary. There was no comfort in his own home, no feeling of familiarity even as he picked Ron's Quidditch mags up off the floor and took his tannin stained tea mugs to the kitchen. Even with small signs of Hermione's presence, such as a quill with its tip broken and a complicated Runes book open beside it…none of it made him feel grounded. Or less lonely.

Thing was, the Malfoy case was rather personal for Harry. He'd already known that going in, and had assured Robards that it wouldn't be a problem. But all the old resentments sprang up the moment Malfoy spoke out in challenge. The moment Harry knew he had him cornered in that barn.

Not to mention that Harry had let another man, a criminal, kiss him. A Death Eater even, and an old adversary. And a complete prat. A completely male prat. Harry really didn't think it was very fair to add a sexual identity crisis to failing a very sensitive field assignment. Malfoy had probably kissed him knowing Harry would implode. Git. And he was straight, anyway. He was sort-of sometimes-what-day-is-it dating Ginny. He was not gay.

Harry dropped onto his sofa and sighed. The quiet stillness of his flat (that he swore he had never noticed before) made him want company. But everyone was probably at the pub without him. He briefly thought of joining them for the last round, but scrapped the idea as quickly as it had come. He was terrible at keeping secrets from his friends. They would know something had happened the moment they saw him.

He wanted to talk about it, but he also wanted to never talk about it again. It would be in his best interest to step away.

Yet, against his better judgement, he would be back on the Malfoy case tomorrow. And who knew when they would next come across each other or what would happen? He couldn't avoid it; Robards was loading on the pressure, and if Harry was as good at his job as his training records said, Malfoy would be in custody shortly. Right.

Meanwhile, most of the department would snigger behind their hands until Harry proved himself and brought Malfoy in. Even then Harry was sure the story probably wouldn’t be put to pasture until after he retired. Or died. Or well, maybe not even then; stories about Moody were still good for a laugh, after all.

Harry had been made a fool of, and had made a royal fool of himself. Now his career was on the line. What had he worked his fingers to the bone for? A tall-tale about an owl and a stupid Death Eater showing him up? The humour of his colleagues at his expense, because this one time, just this once, a fugitive had got the best of him? It was humiliating. Shameful. Harry was bloody buggering ashamed.

And the more he thought about it, sat on his sunken sofa with the telly off and the flat silent– the more he hated Draco Malfoy. Despised that stupid kiss. Cursed his reaction to it. Loathed that Malfoy had had the nerve to say that Harry was his type.

And what did that even mean?

Abruptly rising to his feet, Harry muttered angrily as he made his way to his bedroom. He stood in front of the full-length mirror on the inside of his dresser and tore off his robes, leaving his pressed white shirt and trousers on. He looked up, and the person in the mirror stared back.

Having never thoroughly gazed at himself, the expression in the looking glass was both surprised and wary. The first thing he noticed was that his hair was too long. It curled around his collar in a floppy mess that would put a mop to shame. Maybe Malfoy liked pulling hair. Huh. It would have to be cut.

His eyes, so like his mother's, seemed too big on his tired face, which was pale. Overworked. He was working too hard. His pub nights at The Leaky usually brought that lost colour back into his cheeks. So Malfoy liked them sickly looking, eh? He pinched blood into his face and swore he wouldn't cancel again.

His round glasses, signature in a world that knew his face so very well, did not suit him. They made him look boyish, though the contrast of his square jaw and rough cheeks hardened him a bit. If he got new glasses...would that help? Speccy gits must turn Malfoy on. Perhaps he should invest in even uglier glasses. Did such things exist?

"Fuck," Harry swore at the mirror.

He simply could not get any more unattractive. It wasn't possible. Malfoy was fucking crazy. How was he supposed to encounter that prat again without compromising his innocence? He wouldn't be able to handle anymore of those not-amazing, not-wonderful kisses.

Harry may have, just may have, had a bit of a tantrum then. But after a while he managed to exhaust himself and sulkily fall asleep, the flat still sad and empty.

The next morning he felt reasonably better about things. He'd worn the baggiest trousers he owned, tucked in his shirt and strung himself up with a belt. He wore his biggest, most shoulder-broadening cloak and took some scissors and cut all his hair off. If he'd had suspenders or a bow tie...he would have piled them on too.

Only, he didn't make it to work in his new and improved style. Hermione waylaid him, coming out of his floo with a coffee mug in her hand and her head buried in a stack of parchment. "Harry, have you see the front page this morning? This new bill– Harry! What on earth?"

He fidgeted. "What?"

"What have you done to your hair?"

He frowned. "I've cut it, is all."

"Is all? Did you do it blindfolded?"

Harry scowled at her as she put her things down and reached for his head. He moved away from her quickly. "Alright, alright," he said, fending her off. "It's not my best job, I'll admit– "

"Did Ron put you up to this? Ugh. I'll get him."

"No– " But Hermione was already shoving her head into the floo and yelling for Ron. He came stumbling out with soot on his robes, glaring at Hermione half-heartedly. "I was eating," he said.

"When are you not?" She flung an arm at Harry. "Did you put him up to this?"

Ron looked at his best friend and started to laugh.

"He didn't!" Harry defended, hot around the collar. "Hermione, leave off. I did it myself."

Ron laughed harder.

"Why would you– ? Oh, nevermind. I can fix it."

"No, don't– " but he was too late. She tapped his head with her wand smartly, and he felt his hair curl around his neck and flop about as her magic set him to rights.

"Bugger."

"Now go change, we bought all those nice clothes for you, why are you wearing that heavy old cloak? Honestly, Harry, you look like Teddy playing Aurors."

That was going too far. "I look professional!" he argued.

"Seemed a bit like you were on the wrong end of a cutting curse there, mate," Ron said mirthfully. "And Percy's already got the old windbag look down pat."

He was suddenly so utterly tired of it all that a confession exploded from his mouth like a volcanic eruption. "I'm not gay!" he shouted.

The seriousness of this confession did nothing for Ron, who immediately howled with laughter.

"Oh, Ron, be quiet! Harry, what on earth is happening here?" Hermione said, perplexed.

"I'm attracting ne'er-do-wells" he snapped, but then gazed at Hermione hopefully. She was always truthful with him, wasn't she? "Be honest, now, alright? Do I seem gay?"

"Well," she began, sounding logical. "There's no such thing as 'seeming gay'. You are what you are, regardless of how you look, or whom you attract. I think you're having a bit of a crisis, and that's perfectly alright, Harry, it's very normal– Ron, please be quiet."

"Ugh," he moaned through gritted teeth. "There's no crisis, OK?"

"Harry," Hermione got his attention patiently. "There is nothing wrong with being homosexual. It doesn't matter. Please calm down and tell me what brought this on. I promise that Ron and I will accept you, no matter what."

"This is hilarious," Ron said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

"Can you get anymore insensitive?! Your best friend is going through something very personal– ”

"Hermione, belt up," Ron interrupted. He was still looking at Harry without a bit of sympathy. "Harry, no one cares. If you want to be gay, be gay. If you don't want to be gay, don't be gay. No problem. I did like your hair that way though."

"Ron," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "I'll need you to shut up now."

Ron shrugged and shut it.

"Is this about what happened with Malfoy yesterday?" Hermione asked suddenly.

Harry's eyes went wide. "How do you know about that?" he inquired nervously.

"Ernie," Ron confessed, moving to Harry's kitchen to look for, presumably, more breakfast. "Was he the one who convinced you that you were gay, then? Bit hypocritical, innit?"

Harry frowned. "Why was Ernie even at The Leaky? You didn't invite him– "

"Er, no, he was there with Dean."

"Dean and Ernie?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, they're just friends. And yes, Ron, Ernie has friends. Harry's his friend– "

Harry squawked in disagreement.

"–and Ernie isn't of the persuasion anyway."

Ron seemed to find this completely ridiculous. "Are you joking? Ernie Macmillan is the biggest ponce there ever was. Bent as a shepherd's crook. Everyone knows."

"Ron, don't be prejudiced! Especially not now. Not in front of– "

Awkwardly, Harry smoothed down his restored hair and said nothing, not liking where the conversation was going. "I've got to go to work," he said.

"I'm not prejudiced!" Ron shot back, eating a few slices of Harry's bread. "I love poofs. Charlie is a poof. And so is Ernie."

"I have to go," Harry said again, louder. "And for the record, about losing Malfoy– in my defense, that owl probably had rabies."

This was his only means of testing the waters with Hermione, for if he asked outright whether she believed his story, she would know he had told a lie immediately.

"Of course, Harry, it must have startled you terribly," she said understandingly, and Harry was glad he was pretty sneaky when he wanted to be. "I'm sure you'll get Malfoy next time."

"Yeah, mate, no one blames you for the owl," Ron assured him. "Still funny though...."

"Ron!"

Harry floo'ed to work before he could hear anymore of their argument.

________________

Ernie dropped his report on Harry's desk. "He's gone off the map again, Harry," explaining his paper-dropping. There was ill-disguised disappointment in Ernie's eyes.

Sometimes, uncharitably, Harry wondered how the Auror Office (or anyone, really) put up with Ernie Macmillan. Of the five recruits for the year 1999, two of them were schoolmates of Harry's that he had never...grown fond of in the seven years they knew each other. Ernie Macmillan was one of them, and Zacharias Smith was another (whom he didn't have to see as much as Ernie– thank Merlin).

The surprise third recruit was Susan Bones, who Harry was very fond of indeed. She had always seemed timid to Harry, at least in comparison to her late aunt, whose ferocity had left a big impression on him. But having only been three months ahead of her in training, Harry had often sparred with her, and Susan was more than capable of holding her own. She could be scarier than her aunt too, if the situation called for it.

And then there was Neville, who Harry saw not nearly enough. He had always had a soft spot for Nev, since fourth year really– and even more so when he had stepped up so readily during the Second War. Neville was sweet, loyal, and kind. He was a good Auror and a brilliant partner during the three months they had worked together.

If I were bent, I'd go for a bloke like Nev, he thought, and then was immediately horrified.

Ernie came over and squinted at his green-tinged face suspiciously. "Are you taking mind-altering potions?" he asked.

"No," Harry snapped. "Bugger off."

"Well, there's no need to be rude."

Before he could stomp away, Harry's better nature kicked in. "Ernie, mate, so sorry. Ghastly morning. You understand. Can I ask you a question?"

Ernie sniffed. "Alright," he agreed.

Harry licked his lips. "Do I look gay to you?"

"Is this a joke, Harry? It's not very funny!" Ernie exploded. "No matter what you and your charming mates say, I am not homosexual."

He left, turning his back on Harry who threw up his hands in baffled annoyance. What had he done now? Ernie was crazy. Or perhaps Harry was the crazy one. He didn't know.

The report on Malfoy's whereabouts had him refocussing. He opened the folder slowly, as if it would bite, before immediately reprimanding himself.

You're an Auror, Potter, he thought. Enough faffing about. Harry took out a quill and began his investigation, pushing everything else to the back of his mind.

________________

Pub night was every Thursday, sometimes at the wizarding Boar and Berth, but mostly at The Leaky Cauldron. They only met at the Boar when Harry was being hounded by the press, but that had died down in the last year, so The Leaky remained their go-to local. Harry didn't often get drunk, but this pub night was different. He was sulking, because though he had a tentative lead, Harry was no closer to finding Malfoy.

"Ernie not helping, then?" asked Ron, not quite sloshed but close.

"Ernie's not on this case, you twat," Harry corrected him. The general noise of the pub lessened the harshness of his retort.

Dean heard him anyway. "Alright, Harry?"

"He's narked about Malfoy, I reckon," Ron blurted. "You know where he's at yet?"

Harry shook his head, budging up so Hermione could sit down. "I'm working on it. But right now...I don't know...sod it."

"Harry, you mustn't be so hard on yourself," she said, delivering their table's pints. Across from him, Ginny frowned and leaned over to ask Ron what had happened.

"Malfoy, Malfoy." Seamus was singing. "Good old Malfoy. You'll get him, Harry."

"Yeah. I don't know. Where did we go wrong with him?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Wasn't our fault, mate," Ron said. "It's Malfoy's choice if he wants to go to prison. The Wizegamot might have left him at least a Knut after the war, though. Never thought a Malfoy would be poorer than a Weasley."

This was depressing as bugger all, so Harry drained his pint in one go and got up.

"It's not your round," Ron reminded him, gesturing to a very nearly plastered Seamus.

"I've got it," he refused, wanting to get away from them for a moment. He ordered the drinks and waited as people pressed in from side to side. Harry suddenly caught a glimpse of the one person he wanted and didn't want to see. "Nev!"

"Hi Harry," Neville said, coming over with a smile. "How goes it solo?"

"Miss you, mate," Harry told him murkily, his tongue loose after four pints. "I'm buggered without you behind me."

This seemed like an odd thing to say, and Harry mulled it over for a moment before wincing. Neville blushed, though his eyes held only humour. "I've already had four," Harry grumbled.

"Ron slags you enough, I think," Neville laughed, clapping him on the back. "You've met Hannah– "

He lead Hannah Abbot forward, his hand on the small of her back, and Harry felt a swell of jealousy rise up. He stomped it out and moved to shake her hand. "It's been ages, Hannah!"

"It has. How are you, Harry? I hear from Susan that you're brill in the field," she complimented him very sincerely. Hannah was such a ducky, Harry thought.

"Not in the least," he said. "Join us, then?" He waved at their table.

Neville looked at Hannah before smiling at Harry apologetically. "We're on our way to that new place, by Malkins?"

"Nice one," Harry said, trying to pass off as pleased. "See you, then."

They left just as Harry's drinks came up, and he tottered off to his table. He didn't realise he was muttering until Hermione nudged him. "Was that Hannah and Neville?" she asked.

"Sure," he answered noncommittally.

"They're so sweet together.”

"Right."

If Harry wasn't gay, Neville's relationship with a woman wouldn't bother him. If Harry wasn't gay Malfoy's kiss wouldn’t be all he dreamt about in the last few days. He sighed, decided on whiskey for the rest of the night, and took Ginny home and into bed with him.

________________

Harry perched on the roof opposite the Old Billet in Leeds. His hands were frozen, and his mouth was dry. Malfoy's window was lit, his lodgings small but quaint. Ernie hadn't been completely positive that Malfoy was holed up here, but one incognito request from the pub owner and a memory charm later...and Harry was freezing his arse off waiting across the street. He was also tired, hungry and nervous.

The fact that Malfoy had looked quite...fit when he had come back to the pub did not help his current circumstances.

Harry had been on stakeouts before, some much worse than this. Yet always, always he had managed to keep a level head during them. Even Dolohov hadn't stirred this much of a response. Malfoy was different though, and had been from the start.

He was the reason Ron was almost poisoned. The reason Bill was scarred for life. He had bullied Hermione, had harassed them all through school, and had generally made a nuisance of himself for every year that Harry had known him. Malfoy was racist, cruel, and rotten to the core. It should have no bearing on his mission and on his overall opinion of Malfoy as a person, that the man was very attractive. And yet....

It wasn't as if Harry was backing out of catching the wanker. There would be arresting involved in their next meeting, he vowed that there would be. He just wished that he could maintain his professional attitude.

He needed to regain his composure, which really shouldn't have been so difficult. He was the best Auror in the goddamned department, after all. Harry was one that had outsmarted Greyback. Who had taken down Rabastan Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov– Voldemort for fuck's sake. He could do this. He was better than this.

His internal pep talk did wonders for his speed and confidence when he burst into Malfoy's room thirty minutes later. Malfoy shot up in bed, where he seemed to be smoking a pile of cigarettes in the dark, and before his wand could raise even an inch– Harry had him in a body-bind.

He smirked and moved forward. A quick stunner paralyzed the man (though his eyes were smiling, why were his eyes smiling?) and Harry less than gently levitated his body onto the floor. There had been very little noise, thankfully, and the people in the pub hadn't noticed him steal up the stairs. Smug, because the entire mess had turned out much better than expected, Harry prepared to Disapparate.

"Busby is sorry!"

As the stunning spell hit him square in the back, he thought quite self-deprecatingly that, considering his consistently rotten luck, he really shouldn't have been surprised.

________________

"How the tables turn," said a voice, rather close to his ear. He blinked his eyes open as Malfoy drew away, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Of course you have a house elf," Harry said, rolling his eyes. His wrists were tied to the bed posts, his wand gone, and the house elf in question stood beside Malfoy, tugging her ears with worry.

Malfoy smiled. "You look so good like this. I should keep you in bed. Forever. But more naked."

Busby squeaked.

"No, thank you," Harry said crossly. "Do you mind getting on with it?"

"Is that an offer?"

"You're going to memory charm me, aren't you? Maybe torture me a bit? Go on, then," he growled. "Or perhaps you like to kill now, eh Malfoy? Maybe you'll do me in. Finally make your parents proud."

Malfoy's face closed off, and the little house elf's expression was so torn that Harry turned his head to her and said, "Busby, your master is a murderer. He's going to murder me. He's a no-good, murdering bastard."

Busby tugged on her ears and began to cry. "Master Draco is telling Busby to do bad things! Busby loves Master Draco. Busby is sorry!"

"Leave her alone," Malfoy spat, angrier than Harry had seen him in a long while.

"So you'll defend your bloody house elf but poison people with your potions in the same turn?" Harry egged him on. "Ha. I don't believe it. Draco Malfoy being nice to a house elf? Bet you'll kill her too when you're done using her.”

Busby sobbed, and Harry felt guilt flood him as Malfoy seemed to have finally had enough. He slapped Harry across the face with the back of his hand. Harry hated that shite, though it did have a way of demeaning someone that Harry rather morbidly appreciated.

"Busby," Malfoy addressed his elf. "It's all right. Go home now."

"B-Busby, B-Busby is s-sorry M-master Draco. Busby is sorry!"

"It's all right now. Go on."

She popped out of the room as those dark, furious eyes glared down at him. Harry wasn't put off.

"Barty Crouch Jr. treated his house self the same way, you know. Framed her. Didn't give a Knut for her. Busby will be fine after you're sent to rot in Azkaban. She'll see how evil you are, just like Winky did Crouch," Harry told him, his voice soft.

"I'm not going anywhere," Malfoy said. "Have you forgotten that I have you at my mercy? And now you've upset me, Potter."

"Yeah, sorry."

Malfoy reached out with his wand, running it down Harry's shirt. Goose pimples rose on Harry's arms. Malfoy suddenly looked into his eyes with an intensity that disturbed him. "I didn't sell those poisons," he confided.

"Funny, quite a few witnesses say it was you," Harry scoffed, sounding more cocky than he felt.

"I sell love potions, beauty enhancers, and Polyjuice, Potter. Not poison. I do have principles."

"That's a confession. You're under arrest."

"No one's getting arrested, Potty," Malfoy huffed. "I'm not letting you up."

Harry scowled. "Then you're just going to keep me tied up here?"

"I could."

"Kill me instead."

Malfoy smirked. "No."

His arms were going to sleep, and the noise from the pub downstairs was suddenly a lot louder. No one would probably hear him screaming. "I defended you," said Harry.

Malfoy had the nerve to chuckle. He ran his finger, this time, down Harry's face, his thumb halting at Harry's bottom lip. "I never did thank you, did I? I won't, Potter. I'm not thankful. They took everything from me."

"I'm not sorry they did," he snarled, tearing his face to the side. "And I don't buy that selling illegal potions was the only way you could survive. You chose this. It's on you."

Malfoy lifted a shoulder. "That's true. It's also true that no one will hire a Death Eater. Spoken for by Saint Potter or not."

Harry frowned. "I– didn't think of that."

"No, I didn't expect you to," said Malfoy. "You could make it up to me though."

He narrowed his eyes. "I don't owe you anything."

"Ah, but you do feel guilty. Sleep with me."

Harry turned bright red. "Not even if you walked right into Azkaban yourself."

"What if I said that's exactly what I would do?"

Harry paused. The number of times Malfoy managed to surprise him was a woeful amount. "One shag and you'll turn yourself in?" he laughed. "Yeah, right."

Instead of frustrating Malfoy, it only seemed to intensify his desire. He moved so close so quickly that Harry flinched. "I would go, willingly, to Azkaban for just a taste of you. For the chance to bend you over this bed and take you. To have your lips around me– your hair in my fist. I'd leave a part of me in you that you'll try to wash out– but can't. Yes, Potter, I'd turn myself in for the chance to fuck you. Fuck you harder than you've ever been fucked before."

"You're sick," Harry gasped.

"And you're stupid. You want me. You've always wanted me. And it's your lucky day, Potter, because I'm offering. Don't you want to know what it's like? After so many years thinking about it, dreaming about it– don't you want to see if we're good together?"

"Nice to know you wank to the thought of me, Malfoy. And I'm really sorry, but I can't say I return your interest."

Malfoy leaned forward and kissed his neck, his lips skittering along Harry's pulse point. "You're in such denial, and you're so naïve," he said, putting his hand on Harry's hip. "I can help you there."

His breath tickled the hair on Harry's neck, and then he kissed Harry just as passionately as he had the first time.

And Harry couldn't help but groan when Malfoy murmured against his lips, "Do we have a deal?"

Defeated, Harry closed his eyes and breathed out, "Deal."

________________

It was just about everything Harry dreaded and dreamed of. The awkwardness of a man's...cock, going up his...arse...was thankfully softened by Malfoy's skill and Harry's extreme arousal.

He was awfully passionate, Malfoy– though Harry's own heady desire surprised him too. Harry tried not to think of the answer to Malfoy's question of whether or not they were good together. It was obvious now, anyway.

His wet dreams hadn't been too far off the mark, too. There was the desperation, and Malfoy's sharp wit, and Harry's gasping and moaning as Malfoy quite soundly dominated him. Harry was forced to admit that he really liked everything Malfoy did in bed. He also wondered if he could do those things to Malfoy in return, oblivious to the fact that he was already looking forward to a next time.

Afterward, he blamed his fucked-out mind for saying, "Why did it feel so good?"

Malfoy dragged his cigarette from his mouth and stared at him. He was sat on the edge of the bed, very naked, and very handsome looking. Harry did not admire him from his sprawled out position on the bed, equally naked. He did not. "I forget you're so stupid," Malfoy said, scraping out his smoke in an ash tray. "Do you have any self-awareness at all?"

"Alright. Don't tell me," he said, shrugging. He stretched until he felt his back pop, arms curling underneath his pillow. He got up and searched for his clothes, dressing as Malfoy eyed his bare arse.

"Was it good enough for the last shag you'll ever have?" Harry asked as Malfoy's dark gaze flickered up to meet his. A smile, sinister but appealing, crawled across Malfoy's face.

"Yes," he laughed. "Was it good for you? Must have been, if you're wondering why you suddenly like getting buggered so much. Your previous partners must have been particularly loathsome. You've got a bad taste in men, Potter, bar me of course."

His cheeks reddened, but he maintained his casual air as he dressed. "Contrary to what you might think, Malfoy, I've never let another bloke up there before." He glanced up briefly as he laced up his boots.

Malfoy's expression wobbled from surprised to lecherous. "Never?" At the negative shake of Harry's head he spouted gleefully, "Not even Weasley? You're a bottom for him, for sure. No? Not even an anonymous stranger? Or...oh dear, any of the other Death Eaters you caught?"

Harry did not like this insinuation. "You're the only one who wanted me, you perverted git," he snapped defensively.

Malfoy shook a finger at him. "Now that, I don't believe," he said. "I know a fair few who wanked to those eyes of yours. Snape was rather infamous for it– "

"Enough," Harry cut him off, feeling sick. "Are you going to dress?"

Knowing he had successfully needled him, Malfoy grinned with all of his teeth bared. "Should I?"

Harry ran a hand across his mouth tiredly. "We had a deal, Malfoy. One shag. You go to prison."

Malfoy's wand was abruptly in his hand, tapping at one cheek, his mouth still stretched in that ridiculous smile. "I don't know, Potter," he pondered. "Perhaps you shouldn't have trusted me. I think I'll simply keep you here. Have you any time I want– "

"If you mean to say you're not going to turn yourself in– "

"Of course I'm not," Malfoy said. "You'd miss me if I were in Azkaban. Or your body would, in any case. You were very loud when I came inside you."

Harry's fists clenched. "You're under arrest, Malfoy," he hissed.

Malfoy's laughter grated on Harry's nerves. Naked still, he stood and faced Harry arrogantly. "Have you forgotten so quickly? I have you at my mer–" he suddenly stopped in his search for Harry's wand, which had been stashed in his coat across the bed. "Ah."

Harry raised it and smiled. "Shall we?"

Malfoy breathed out a laugh and grinned. "Ready when you are."

"Expelliarmus!"

"Reducto!"

Malfoy managed to dodge Harry's disarming and the reducto went wide. It hit the door and blasted it outward. The pub downstairs suddenly went quiet. Harry winced, internally apologising to the Obliviators, before he was flinging spell after spell Malfoy's way. Malfoy jumped on the bed, sent a silent curse at his head and kicked him to the side. Harry stumbled, yelling, "Incendio!"

The jet of fire hit the door Malfoy was threatening to escape out of. He swung around and blasted the bed behind Harry, which knocked him down but not out. From the floor, Harry strengthened the fiery barricade as Malfoy tried futilely to put it out.

"Busby!" Malfoy shouted.

The house elf popped up beside him. "Busby is sorry!" she shrieked.

"Bloody 'effing– " Harry spat, rising to his feet and casting a stunner at the house elf.

"My house elf!" Malfoy bellowed, enraged. He shot off a very powerful, and likely very dark curse Harry's way.

He barely threw himself out of its path before Malfoy dropped his anti-apparition wards. Harry snapped his own up just as quick.

"Oh sod it," he heard Malfoy say before he flung a blasting curse at the window.

Harry charged forward just as the magical fire ate through the floor. The ground shook, splintered, and Harry had about two seconds to glare at Malfoy's grin before it broke through. He was falling, falling through the hole in the burning floor. His robes were alight. His head hit the ground hard.

Harry managed to get up, despite the painful wooziness, and tore off his smoking robes. He ran out of the vacant room he had landed in and down the stairs of the pub. A few people were grumbling as the fire alarm went off, making their slow way to the door. Harry pushed passed them and out onto the street, just as Malfoy scaled down the window with a crying Busby on his back.

"Put your trousers on!" one of the Muggles yelled at a naked Malfoy.

"You're supposed to cut 'em off before things like this happen, Rodney."

The round of laughter and jeering from the bystanders was abruptly cut off as Harry pushed them aside.

Malfoy made it down, saw Harry, and took off. Harry gave chase as the crowd hooted, his legs eating up the ground in a sprint. Malfoy was fast, even with the house elf on his back. Harry raised his wand to stun the elf again, but she looked back at him, her eyes huge and soggy...and he hesitated.

It was just enough time for her to pop away with Malfoy, taking him to where Harry could not follow. He stopped abruptly, only a kilometer or so away from the blazing pub, and stared. He had lost Malfoy. Again. And after they'd...after he’d….

Fuck.

A loud crash split the night as the top floor of the pub gave way. There was hollering, and a cloud of dust. Harry turned around and got a face full of it, most of it smoke that inched into his lungs. He coughed and stepped forward, looking at the remains of the Old Billet with wide eyes, and Harry knew he was in trouble. "Fuck me," he cursed.

"Alright, love?" one of the Muggles leered at him.

He figured he was bollocksed anyway, and so had no compunctions about hexing the man blind.

________________

Robards taking Harry off of the case was without a doubt the most humiliating part of the entire debacle. Harry could say, with some confidence, that he and Malfoy had fought well after they had shagged. It was the shagging bit that ruined any chance of his ego surviving where his innocence had not.

If he'd thought that after this fuck up, he would simply be the butt of every joke in the Auror office for a while– he was vastly disappointed. Taking the piss out of Harry had been a common pastime ever since he had joined the Aurors. Slagging he could handle, gross defamation he could ignore (Ta, Rita!) and even rampant, unfounded gossip could be waved off with a healthy bit of wry cynicism. But his fellow Aurors, who knew him to be both capable and level-headed, had a different opinion on the issue with Malfoy.

They were concerned. They asked themselves, "Has Potter lost his touch?" and "Is Potter ill?" and, "Do you think it's Voldemort jarring things loose up there?"

While their worry for him was certainly touching, Harry was less than pleased to hear them speculate on the status of his acuity (as Robards called it). His acuity, after all, had kept him from being captured and held as some sort of catamite for Malfoy. Yes, his acuity was just fine, thanks.

But no one knew the truth of it, so it wasn't like he could properly defend himself.

Harry figured he could put up with the mother-henning better than shock and outrage. Which deservedly, he should have to endure. Lying to his superiors, his friends, what was essentially his family.... He looked down at his hand, at Umbridge's scar, and scoffed.

I can tell lies if I want to, he thought childishly.

"While you're on suspension," Ernie was saying, bringing up exactly what Harry did not want to talk about. "I'll show you the ropes of Stealth and Tracking, Harry. It's really quite simple, though much of it is theoretically guesswork."

He supposed Ernie was only trying to cheer him up. The bastard.

"Er, I might be busy with paperwork, Ern. For the foreseeable future, looks like." He glared at the stack of parchment a shamelessly cheerful Robards had dropped off at his desk.

And that rankled too. While certainly many of Harry's colleagues were worried for his mental health, they had been awful quick to turn in backlogged paperwork to subsidize this cruel and unusual form of punishment. Wankers.

"Oh, you'll be finished in a week at the most, and you're grounded for two, you know. Plenty of time," Ernie contradicted tactlessly. "Perhaps you might find research– or, as your mates call it parchment-pushing– a more exciting endeavor than fieldwork. It's just as invigorating, I assure you."

Harry hated him.

"You don't hate him Harry, honestly," Hermione scolded at the Boar later that night. "I think you're only angry at yourself."

Ron and Seamus were gawking rather shamelessly at a girl waiting at the bar. Hermione paused to smack them none-too-gently. "It's only a matter of time. Malfoy will be caught, and then you'll feel much better, you'll see. It's just that this case is rather personal for you...it's not about your capability as an Auror."

"Right," Harry said. "But that shouldn't matter, should it? I've got a job to do, haven't I?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You're so difficult, Harry, really."

"I could have told you that, Hermione," Neville interrupted, sidling up behind them with Hannah peeping over his shoulder. Harry groaned. "Six years in a dorm with both him and Ron is enough for a lifetime."

Ron blew a bubble in his pint and mumbled, "Trevor."

The atmosphere dropped from friendly to gloomy. "Oi," Harry shouted at Ron. "We're not talking about it!"

Hermione was glaring at Ron as well, though her disappointment seemed to work on her boyfriend better than Harry's yelling. "Sorry, Nev," Ron said, patting him on the arm. "We all miss Trevor."

Seamus sniggered into his hand.

"He lived a long time for a toad, mate," Harry told him sympathetically, after kicking Seamus underneath the table. "And he was the best bloody toad I've ever known."

"How many toads have you known, then, Harry?" Seamus burst out laughing. "Besides Trevor and Umbridge, who else?"

"Awww," the lot of them moaned gleefully, and Harry was happy to see Neville grin. "Wands away! There will be no need to wank. That means you Mr Finnegan!" said Ron.

"As per the terms of educational decree number three hundred and ninety-four, as approved by the Minister of Magic," Dean said in a high-pitched voice. "Seamus Finnegan's hand must not be within eight inches of his cock."

Hermione threw a napkin at him as even Neville joined the hubbub, "You applied first for the Defense Against Dark Arts post, is that correct? But you were unsuccessful? Could it be that your cock was too small?"

"Obviously," they all said, mimicking old Snape's tone as best they could. They all burst into laughter, annoying the group next to them enough that they took their pints and moved.

Neville didn't stay for long after that, though he reassured them that it had nothing whatsoever to do with Trevor. He told them of his and Hannah's plans for the night, which included much cuddling and overall jealousy on Harry's part. They simmered down when he left, though Ron was intent on telling a very vulgar joke to Dean and Seamus, and as quiet as he was trying to be– five rounds guaranteed that everyone heard him.

Harry, sitting next to Hermione, pretended not to listen so that he wouldn't laugh at anything offensive. She could hit hard, Hermione. "What was that about, Harry?" she whispered to him.

He was confused for a moment and blinked at her vacantly, before realising what she meant. He blushed. "What was what?"

"You staring at Neville," she answered huffily. "And if looks could kill, Harry, you'd be hiding Hannah's body by now."

He traced the edge of his damp pint glass. "I don't know what you mean," he denied.

"You're an awful liar," Hermione said. "You fancy him."

"Say it a bit louder, would you?"

"Those drunken idiots haven't heard a thing. You do fancy him. Oh, Harry– !"

He closed his eyes briefly before turning to scowl at her. "Hermione, I respect him is all. He's a good friend, alright? And I just don't think Hannah's right for him."

"But Hannah's lovely," she argued.

"Hannah's daft."

"Harry!" she snapped, her patience wearing fast. "You like her! You've always liked her! I know you're jealous, and maybe a bit heartbroken, and I am sorry, but be nice."

Harry rubbed his forehead angrily, glad that the pub was too loud for them to be overheard. "Don't tell me how I feel, Hermione," he mumbled crossly.

"Then don't lie to me," she said with equal waspishness. But then her expression suddenly changed into something like pity. "Harry, this isn't like you. You've never said you've fancied men before, is that why you're so unhappy–? "

"Yeah well, there's lots you don't know about me," he interrupted furiously. "I've even been with one."

She blinked in shock. "When? How?"

"Well, when two blokes really fancy each other– " he began snidely.

"Fine, then," Hermione sniffed. "But Neville's with Hannah, Harry, and I don't want to hear any more disparaging comments about it."

Harry was furious with her, but he was more angry with himself for letting Hermione see him all green-eyed over Neville and Hannah. In fact, he was the daft one for ever thinking he could hide anything from her at all. There's no use in hiding, he thought, she'll always find out eventually. So bugger it.

"Malfoy arsed me," he admitted.

Instead of alarming her more than his confession of sometimes-sort-of fancying his own sex, she only sighed in resignation. His head popped up from his appraisal of the table as she said, "Harry, I know what happened with Malfoy has upset you, but there's no need to take it out on your friends."

He managed not to gape at her.

"And who knows?" she went on, patting his hand. "Two weeks without fieldwork might do you some good."

For the smartest witch of her age, sometimes Hermione wasn't all that bright. Harry finished off his beer and wondered if that was a good thing or not.

________________

When Harry arrived at the Ministry on Monday, there was not much besides a fresh cup of tea to look forward to. The promise of two weeks of boredom sat at his desk in the form of paperwork. Along with that, he was doomed to listen to tales of the exciting lives of the Auror's not on suspension, to desk gossip about who's shagging who, and Robards giggling at his expense from inside his office.

"Good morning, Harry. Tea?"

And Ernie, of course, who enjoyed filing and memo-ing and lavender-hand-lotioning. Fantastic. He took the cuppa with a grumble, burning the inside of his mouth when he drank too fast.

"Er, Ernie, mate," he said, carefully putting his tea on his desk. "Don't you take yours with no milk?"

Ernie frowned and glanced at the cup. "Did I get it wrong?"

Harry shrugged, sorry to have brought it up. "Yeah, mate. I think you've given me yours," he explained. "No worries, though. It's not half-bad."

Rather than coming off as less of a prick for mentioning it kindly (he and Ernie had been getting tea for each other for how long now? Honestly) he must have sounded like a right ungrateful twat because Ernie scowled. "Well, suppose you get us our tea next time?"

Harry usually did, but there was no use arguing.

"I've compiled a packet of documents for you, in any case," said Ernie, huffing. "It may seem daunting, Harry, but you've two good weeks to learn the trade. It's wonderful to have a protege again. The last was Susan, you remember. Very bright– "

Ernie babbled as Harry helplessly raised his eyes upward. Dumbledore, he thought, Sirius...you dead lot. Platform Nine and Three Quarters, come in. Help. Good god, help me.

He had a feeling they were laughing. He also hoped that they hadn't...observed the circumstances that had gotten him on suspension. Merlin it was too early for his head to be this fucked up.

The bustling wee hours of the morning eventually died down. Ernie and Harry, in their lone cubicle, watched the other Aurors leave. Harry's gaze might have been a bit wistful. Robards retreated into his office, carefully not looking at Harry as his door slammed shut. Laughter could be heard from within.

"–and while stealth stratagem is universally important for each Auror in the department to grasp, when coupled with tracking– a truly essential part of the operation– there must be intellectuals at the helm, comprised of true masters of clear deduction and analysis," Ernie went on and on and on.

"Indubitably, Mr Holmes," Harry muttered. "How was he never a Ravenclaw? Poor puffs. Just five minutes of silence, is all I ask. When does he sleep."

Ernie, unfortunately, caught some of that. "I see," he said, doing a rather good McGonagall impression. Harry was surprised when there was no cries of 'you know very well I was a not-gay Hufflepuff!' when Ernie only said, "Come with me, Harry."

Tormented as he was, Harry got up and followed just to save him more agony later. "So…how's the Malfoy case?" he couldn't help but ask as they walked through the near-empty department.

"You're off that case, Harry," Ernie said carefully, eyeing him. "It's Susan and Zachariah’s mission now."

"Did Robards say I couldn't keep tabs on it?" he couldn't help but snap.

Ernie bit his lip. "No, he didn't," he answered. "But I think it's best if we let our minds and bodies embrace new beginnings. Brooding upon ones past mistakes can be...detrimental in the workplace."

That's it, Harry decided. Ernie Macmillan was going to die.

They arrived in a room stacked from top to bottom with cabinets. "This is our archive of past cases," Ernie said, waving a hand as if showing off a kingdom. "Every file on every offender known to our Majestic Ministry is in this room. Fascinating, isn't it, Harry?"

"You're really laying it on thick," Harry said, so frustrated he could barely speak.

"I am, aren't I?" Ernie laughed. Harry took a step back, wondering if potions abuse was actually pretty common in their office. An owl and a house elf foiling a capture shouldn't have been too unusual if Ernie was calling things majestic. "But it's spot on, right?"

And then Harry knew. His wand was in his hand, leveling with Ernie's nose, and he could feel the tip of not-Ernie's own wand pointing at the space between his ribs.

"Cheers," Harry said softly. "That was well done."

"I should get an award or something," person-who-was-not-Ernie said.

"Where is he?" Harry growled.

"He's fine.” The imposter shrugged off his concern. "Despite how obnoxious he is. How do you stand it? Even I'm not that much of a ponce."

"He says he's not gay," Harry relayed, his wand twitching very slightly. "What are you playing at Malfoy?"

"You're clever sometimes, Potter, and I'm happy to hear that I've not got competition," Malfoy chuckled. "At least I hope so. You're not looking to shag Macmillan, are you?"

"Ugh."

Malfoy grinned with Ernie's face. "I won't kiss you just yet then."

"Yeah, sure. You know you've a lot of nerve coming here," Harry told him, backing away from the cabinets and into the free space where he could move. "How do you suppose you'll get out of here alive, then?"

Malfoy took a step forward. "With your help, of course, Harry," he answered, smiling maliciously. "I was very disappointed when instead of you shadowing me in Aberdeen, it was two incompetents on my tail. No matter. I easily lost them. They'll come back downtrodden enough that your reputation should repair itself."

Harry tried not to let the relief show on his face, but judging by Malfoy's laugh– he hadn't done very well. "Eager to be after me again?" he asked amusedly. "Happily, it's mutual."

"I can tell," Harry mocked, raising an eyebrow. "Going so far as to Polyjuice yourself to see me? To walk into the very place that would have your head on a pike? We are a bit desperate, aren't we?"

Malfoy didn't lose his predatory smile. "You are exquisite," he flattered needlessly. "Shall I tell you what I want?"

"You’re at wand-point, Malfoy, so I would really watch what comes out of your mouth next."

"I think we'll agree to disagree." Malfoy smiled. "Now listen, Potter, you'll have your chance to defend yourself later. Right now, I'd like to fuck you, preferably when this potion wears off in about three minutes. I want to fuck you on top of my criminal record. I simply have to do it or I'll die."

Harry gave a shocked laugh, but Malfoy ignored him.

"Then after we've shagged, I want you to watch as I retake Macmillan's face. I want you to watch as I leave this room and walk out of the Ministry untouched. Watch as I thwart the less-than-worthy Aurors Robards will send after me, again and again. Until the only one left is you. Because I want you to chase me, all your live-long days, obsessed with the thought that one day you might succeed."

Harry listened intently as he finished. "Why the fucking hell would I do that?" he snapped, his wand rising a little more. "You're mental."

"Why?" Malfoy repeated, moving so close that only a hair's breadth lay between Harry's wand and his cheek. "Because your department of bumbling idiots are nothing on you. Because Robards doesn't respect you– he's made your life difficult ever since you came under his command. Because your cubicle mate is a unrelenting, girly-smelling prick. Because being with me is a lovely, sordid secret that you want so badly it hurts."

Malfoy was whispering in his ear, and Harry's wand had lowered. "Because you want to give the entire Wizarding World two fingers. Because you're desperately unhappy and want nothing more than to leave all this behind. And because, most importantly, Harry, you want me."

Harry exhaled.

Malfoy's eyebrow rose.

"Yeah," huffed Harry. "Alright."

....................................

It was messy and sticky and entirely hazardous to everything he had worked so hard for in the past three years. His reputation. His career. His delusion that he was just a normal man in a maybe not so normal world. But it felt good. So damn good.

"Fuck...god..." he groaned and tried not to scream as Malfoy pounded into him.

Malfoy’s head was tipped skyward, lost in his own pleasure; the remnants of his smug smirk still evident on his slack, sweaty face. They hadn't quite managed to do it on Malfoy's records, though Harry could see the edges of it peeking out from under his thigh. His face was on top Bellatrix's closed file, though, and that might have been even better.

Harry wondered what he came on, when the pleasure rushed through him and he finally climaxed. His writhing set Malfoy off too, and Harry craned his neck around to watch him. A long, drawn-out moan completed Malfoy's concert of noises.

He indulged in the sight of it, as magnificent as it was. "Just for that, I’ll try to get you a lighter sentence, Draco," he half-joked.

"Potter," he panted, licking a stripe down Harry's neck. "You called me - hold on. What?"

Harry twisted his arm backward and said, "Stupefy."

Malfoy's expression, frozen by Harry's spell, did not look surprised.

...........................

"I want to talk to Potter," he was saying, over and over and sometimes interrupting Robards, who was as red as a tomato.

"–an attorney will be provided to you during your expedited trial in front of a full court, per Wizengamot Regulation, though a full confession during interrogation upon capture may result in a lighter sentence. Your behaviour now will be taken into consideration should you decide to cooperate, or prove helpful to any ongoing investigations," Robards finished, struggling to remain professional.

Malfoy did not touch the parchments handed to him. "I want to talk to Potter," he repeated, amused at Robards frustration.

"I will be interrogating you, Malfoy!"

"I thought the arresting officer generally did the questioning," he said snarkily. "And he did get me, you know. As much as it hacks you off."

Robards growled.

"I want to talk to Potter."

The man stormed away and Malfoy made himself comfortable. He waited only a few minutes before the Head Auror shoved Potter into the room, who looked delightfully flushed and not a little nervous. "Alright," Harry said, taking out his wand and sitting across from him. "You wanted me."

"Put up a ward," Malfoy demanded, tapping his fingers on the table.

Harry looked at him suspiciously but complied. "Now what? They'll ask what you've said to me after, idiot. And you'd better hope, for your sake, that no one can read lips."

"I wouldn't expect that much competence from your fellow Aurors," Malfoy smirked. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here. As it happens, I'm in a bit of a bind."

Harry couldn't help but grin. "I noticed."

"See, I've had a thought. If I tell the truth like those prats want me to, I'll be kissing and telling, as it were. They'll put me away and I'll never shag you again."

"Fancy that," Harry laughed.

"But if I tell them what we got up to," he went on, and paused to watch Harry pale a bit. "You'll be ruined. Humiliated. I'll be put away and you'll be on every headline from here to Timbuktu, and of course– I'll never shag you again."

"Either way I'd say you're fucked."

Malfoy leaned forward across the table. "That's the rub, isn't it? I won't be fucked. If I go away, Potter, you can live your silly little life for as long as it takes you to come to terms with the fact that you like cock. My cock, specifically. The other option forces you to face it, but as a coward, because I'm the one who has to confess for you. Either way you're the one that's fucked, Potter. Haven't you realised?"

Harry had, but he wasn't about to let the man know. Nor would he mention that the prospect of being found out, however inevitable, frightened Harry more than Voldemort had. "What do you want?" he asked.

"A pardon."

"Not going to happen. And I won't help you escape, either. I've told them about your house elf."

"Of course," Malfoy shrugged. "A shorter sentence then. Two years."

"You think I can do that?" Harry snapped. "I'm not as politically powerful as you seem to think, Malfoy."

Malfoy chuckled. "Are you so sure?"

"You also deserve to be locked away for the rest of your miserable life."

"And you deserve better than the life they want you to live."

Harry bit his lip. "I'll see what I can do," he decided.

When he walked out he was immediately set upon by a furious Robards. "Well?" the man demanded.

"He says he didn't sell the poisons," Harry told him, also addressing the Aurors behind Robards large shoulders at the last minute. "Says he only specializes in love potions and Polyjuice. Claims he never murdered anyone."

"Load of bollocks, then," Robards scoffed. "Suppose we'll need some Veritiserum. Have Kingsley sign off on it, Potter. Let's see Malfoy get out of this one."

....................................

"Good on you, mate," Ron congratulated, raising a toast to Harry when he'd sat down. "Saved Ernie's arse, though, suppose he owes you a day of silence."

"If that’s your price, Ron, then you owe me thirteen years worth of silence," Hermione said, whipping about in her seat to glare at him.

Ginny laughed at Ron's disgruntled face before turning to Harry. "Cheers, though, Harry," she said, tapping his glass. "Maybe now you'll be a bit nicer."

"Less like a Wanga Wanga bird, anyway," Seamus piped in, drunk and stupid.

"Whassat?"

"Bird what runs around in circles 'till his head disappears up his arse."

Harry laughed, though he was inclined to warn them that his mood was unlikely to improve. "I wouldn't count on it," he said. "Formal interrogation tomorrow."

"Heard from Ernie that Malfoy's saying he didn't do it," Ron said.

Harry sighed. "Don't they all? And Ernie has a great big fat mouth."

"He's all right," Dean put in. "He has nothing but nice things to say about you, Harry."

"Can't imagine why," Harry retorted hotly. "What's he been saying?"

Dean shrugged. "That he'd do you, if he was bent. Personally I don't see the appeal."

Harry glowered at him hatefully.

"S'all right, Harry," Ron said. "If you were a girl I'd show you a good time."

Hermione cleared her throat.

"With Hermione's permission of course."

"Yeah, well, I'm not gay," he grumbled.

Ginny patted Harry's hand. "It's ok. You'd make a very ugly girl."

"Passably ugly," Dean amended.

"Possibly a bit nice. Flatty but fitty. I'd do her...er, him," Seamus added. "I accept you, mate."

"All right, sod you lot," Harry snapped at them.

"Ah, Harry," Seamus cooed. "We love you. Even if you are bent."

Harry scowled into his pint. "Fucking bastards," he said with real heat. Hermione was the only one who heard it for what it was.

She looked to him concernedly, and Harry cursed himself for getting so angry in front of her. She didn't question him though, much to his surprise. She only said, "When all this is over, I expect you to tell me what was happening to make you so upset."

He glared at her, but appreciated her dropping the subject. When Ginny raised an eyebrow, silently asking if they were on, Harry shook his head. He went home a bit more drunk than usual, took a paracetamol, and went to bed – alone. Contrary to what Hermione believed, Harry had the feeling none of this would be over, any time soon.

...................................

He had never been so bloody nervous in his life.

"State your name."

"Draco Lucius Malfoy."

"Residence?"

"On the lam."

Robards looked up, but Malfoy's face was still slack and vacant. Harry twisted his shirt in his hands.

"Did you distribute weedosoros and bloodroot to Allium's Apothecary?"

"No."

Harry let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Did you have anyone else distribute weedosoros and bloodroot to Allium's Apothecary for you?"

"No."

Harry bit at his lips as Robards went on, "Have you ever illegally brewed weedosoros and/or bloodroot?"

"No."

"Have you done anything illegal or approaching illegal in the last year?"

Harry's mouth dropped open. "Sir! You can't– " but Robards ignored him. Not only was this grossly unlawful, Malfoy could confess about...recent crimes. Like Harry being his...conquest.

"Yes."

Robards' eyes narrowed. "Clarify, if you please."

"Public nudity."

"Excuse me?"

"Public nudity."

"Wh– " Robards was speechless, and Harry found himself trying very hard not to laugh.

"Take him away," Robards finally snapped, looking livid.

Malfoy wasn't in the clear. They had him on illegal Polyjuice and love potion possession with the intent to sell, as well as resisting arrest. It wasn't as though he'd come out of this one on top, so Harry should be pleased, but some part of him was rather indignant on Malfoy's behalf. He had not been treated well by the Aurors, and Robards’ behaviour alone bordered on unethical. It didn't seem fair that Malfoy would go back to prison, now that Harry knew him a bit better. Harry met Draco's eyes as they dragged him out of the interrogation room, but there was no anger there. No fear.

Instead he only smiled at Harry, and winked.

.....................................

Ernie was seething. "Only three years!" he hissed. "Of all the injustices! Malfoy claimed he was reformed. Reformed! Ha! He should be locked up for the rest of his life. It's a travesty! I can hardly stand it!"

But Harry could not sympathize. He was confused and he wasn't quite sure why.

"Make sure you escort that filth to the bowels of hell," Ernie went on. "Give him to a Dementor. No one will mind."

Harry told him to shut it. He would escort Malfoy to prison in a very dignified manner instead, because that was his job. Not because he liked the prat. Not at all.

Except when he went the next morning to make the transfer, he found the entire department in a hubbub. “Malfoy’s escaped!” Ernie told him, looking as if the world had ended.

A slow smile crept across Harry’s face. “Has he?”

Ernie would never forgive him, but Harry simply couldn't help it and started to laugh.

.................................

Harry wasn't surprised to find a note at his desk, pinned to the top of Malfoy's dossier.

Here we are again, it said. Come find me, Potter, and arrest me or give them the two fingers. It’s your choice, but you know which one I’m hoping for.

In such a short time, his life had changed completely. Harry had explored, however briefly, a part of himself untapped. He had fought against it; had shouted and denied, and yet here, now, with Malfoy's challenge at hand…he'd never felt more alive. He was just beginning to understand himself– to understand his needs and desires, and for the first time it felt freeing rather than frightening. It was a relief. He didn't have to be unhappy. This was a good thing.

And what Draco had said was true. It was his choice. He deserved to acknowledge his true self without fear. He deserved to live a better life than what they wanted him to live. He deserved the gift this little note was giving him.

So Malfoy ran.

And Harry followed.

#HP1 #hp fic #drarry #HP prompts #very old stuff

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