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All Missing Things ( Can Be Found )

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Harry laughed as Seamus slammed down another pint in front of him. He wasn’t sure what exactly they were doing in Nice, except that Seamus had insisted that for his twentieth birthday they all hit up one of the most famous Irish bars in Europe and take a well deserved holiday. So here the Gryffindor boys were in Nice at Wayne’s Bar on a Friday night looking for some welcome relief from the real world.

Harry loved the active side of Auror training. He loved the thrill of learning new spells and mastering old ones. He was less keen on the frequent tests they were given, but he felt like he was being useful. Auror training had helped ground him after the war, and it had given him a purpose again.

“Shouldn’t we be buying you drinks, seeing as it’s your birthday?” Neville slurred, propping his head up with his hand, blonde hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Shhh!” Ron hissed loudly, giving Neville a shove that had Neville wobbling off his seat. Ron had never been aware of his own strength, and two years of physical hands-on Auror training had seen Ron broadening out from the lanky git he’d always been at school.

“What was that, Nev?” Seamus asked, blinking drearily.

Neville opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Ron shoved his presumably sweaty hand into Neville’s mouth and flashed Seamus what Ron probably thought was an innocent smile.

“Nothing.”

Harry laughed and took a swig from the beer Seamus had bought him. He always preferred being in Muggle bars than wizarding ones. Even two years after the war, Harry still had people coming up to him and thanking him, worshipping him, treating him as if he were something more than he was. He was just Harry.

He was Harry Potter, or as Ron would call him, the idiot who always forgets to eat when he’s distracted , or Hermione’s favourite nickname, the boy who survived the killing curse twice only to work himself to death whenever Harry threw himself too deep into Auror training. Seamus at one point had taken to calling Harry the chosen shagger after Harry’s latest string of unsuccessful relationships post-Ginny and what Dean had nicknamed the bi revelation, but thankfully that nickname had been short-lived. Mainly due to Harry threatening Seamus, of course.

To his friends he would always be just “Harry”, a boy who wears mismatched socks and can’t comb his hair and more often than not forgets to shave. They didn’t ask him to be perfect when they knew he was far from it. Harry needed that.

“To being single!” Dean cheered, dropping back into his seat with a round of shots for them all.

Harry picked up the shot and downed it as Ron let out a mighty cheer and downed his own. Ron’s being single too was still weird, but he and Hermione had decided to take some time apart before settling down for good. Harry was pretty sure it was Molly’s constant needling them about children and marriage that had done it. Harry understood them wanting time apart to learn who they were without a maniac trying to kill them; he was still searching for that answer himself after all.

“To being single and devastatingly good-looking!” Seamus added.

“To being single, devastatingly good-looking, and talented!” Ron grinned.

“To being single, devastatingly good-looking, talented, and hilarious,” Neville said, pulling a face as he downed his own shot.

Harry laughed as all his mates turned to him. “To being single, devastatingly good-looking, talented, hilarious and…” He paused as he tried to find the correct word, and for a moment his eyes caught sight of a flash of white hair in the crowd. It couldn’t be. “Malfoy,” he spluttered.

There was no way Draco fucking Malfoy also happened to be at Wayne’s Bar in Nice. There was no fucking way. Harry would fuck a hippogriff before he accepted that fact. However, he would recognise that hair anywhere. It was so annoyingly bright and in-your-face. Harry hated how it drew his attention whenever Malfoy was skulking around the Ministry without his hat on. Harry would be forever thankful that whilst the official Auror robes included a pointed hat that looked like it belonged in a Muggle’s Halloween costume, trainees didn’t have to wear them, and neither did Aurors in their day-to-day lives. However, Unspeakables in the Department of Mysteries, where Malfoy swanned about, all wore those stupid hats.

Malfoy was married now. It was a strange thought that Harry couldn’t completely comprehend. It had happened right after Malfoy had graduated Hogwarts after returning for his eighth year. Harry had been shocked Malfoy had gone back. Hermione had said that the Ministry had made some kind of deal with Malfoy, which made sense, since Malfoy had graduated and been swept straight into the Department of Mysteries. The Department of Mysteries gave Harry the creeps, so he was more than happy to keep his distance.

Anyway, there had been an announcement in the Prophet that summer that Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass, a Slytherin from the year below, had married. The thought irked Harry, the fact that after everything Malfoy was still the same pure-blood puppet.

“Mate! Mate!” Harry was jolted from his inner drunken Malfoy thoughts at Ron’s voice.

Harry glanced over to find Seamus roaring with laughter, Dean snickering into his glass, Neville confused, and Ron pulling a pained face.

“What?” Harry said.

“I’ve gone back in time, we’re in sixth year again,” Ron moaned as Neville patted his back, still looking confused.

“What?” Harry repeated.

“Sorry, do you not remember toasting “‘ To being single, devastatingly good-looking, talented, hilarious, and Malfoy ’?” Dean said slowly.

Harry ducked his head, thankful for dimly lit bars and his tanned skin from his father’s Desi heritage.

“I mean, I always thought he had a bit of a thing for you,” Seamus smirked, still laughing. Harry kicked him and cast a wandless refilling charm on his shot glass.

“Shut up,” Ron groaned, pushing his glass towards Harry for a refill. Of the Gryffindor Auror training group, Harry was the only one who had mastered any wandless magic. All five of them had joined up after the war, desperate for something to do. Returning to real life had seemed impossible. Harry wasn’t sure if it would ever be possible.

“Malfoy did not have a thing for me,” Harry said, filling up Ron’s shot glass for him because he felt bad for being the cause of the pain on his best mate’s face. “No fucking way,” Harry said when Seamus pushed his own empty shot glass towards him.

“It’s my birthday,” Seamus pouted. “And anyway, he was always weirdly obsessed with you.”

“Harry was pretty obsessed with him too,” Ron groaned, downing his shot and shaking his head.

“Was not! He was my nemesis…”

“You’re aware most eleven-year olds don’t have a nemesis right, mate?” Dean asked.

“Ron, he was your nemesis too!”

“I thought- think,” Ron corrected, “that Malfoy is a right fucking git but I would not have said he was my nemesis. It was always more the two of you.”

Harry flipped them all off and finished off the rest of his beer, “Enough about Malfoy, who wants to dance?”

Seamus sprung to his feet, “Now that’s a plan I can get involved in.”

Harry followed his mate through the crowd presuming the rest of the Gryffindors were following them. All Seamus had told them about the bar was that it apparently had live music every night and that everyone danced on the tables, and Seamus hadn’t been wrong.

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Harry exchanged a grin with Seamus before letting a blonde girl pull him up onto one of the tables, all thoughts of Malfoy pushed from his mind. Harry had clearly been imagining things.

It was easy to lose himself in the drum of the music, the buzz of alcohol in his veins, and the feeling of sweaty bodies grinding against him. To throw his head back and grin as the girl ground her arse against his crotch. He could see Ron dancing with a brunette who looked a lot like Hermione, not that Harry would ever mention that to his mate. Harry liked having his balls attached.

The singer at the front was singing a Muggle song that Harry didn’t recognise and he knew none of his friends would know, but that didn’t stop him from humming the chorus. It was a catchy song.

The girl turned around, her arms wrapping around his neck and Harry slipped his hands onto her waist, pulling her closer. Another warm body against him was all he wanted, all he needed. Harry had no interest in anything serious.

“Hey,” the girl murmured, blinking large blue eyes up at him. Wayne’s Bar was filled with tourists Seamus had told them, so they wouldn’t stick out.

“Hullo,” Harry murmured back, he started to lean in closer to kiss her when a particularly sharp elbow connected with his back. Turning his head, Harry glanced over his shoulder at the offender, a smirk playing at his lips. The close proximity and vicarious nature of dancing on tables that looked like they belonged in Viking drinking halls meant it was impossible to dance without knocking someone once or twice.

“My apol-” a familiar bored drawl met Harry’s ears, and he frowned before glancing down into a pair of beady dark eyes and unforgettable pug nose. “Potter!” Pansy Parkinson squawked, her jaw dropping as she raked her eyes over him.

Harry stared dumbly back at Parkinson, who was in a tight-fitting black dress that left absolutely nothing to the imagination, and for one traitorous second Harry’s eyes zoomed in on her tits. Since when had Parkinson had good tits? Then Harry’s brain kicked back into gear, and he was reminded that this was a girl who had quite publically tried to sell him out to Voldemort a couple of years back.

It seemed the exact same thought had just crossed Parkinson’s mind, because she gave him a tight nod before turning tail and disappearing back through the crowd. Harry stared at her back. If Parkinson was here then perhaps that meant that he really had seen… no… Harry would genuinely rather fuck a hippogriff than see Malfoy in a place like this.

The blonde girl gave a tug on his arm, but Harry brushed her off. He wanted another drink. Nothing made you crave more alcohol than a brush with someone who tried to send you to your death a couple of years back.

Not that Harry hated Parkinson anymore, he didn’t hate any of them. They’d all been kids after all, but that didn’t mean Harry wanted anything to do with any of them. Especially obnoxiously white-haired ferrets. No, that wouldn’t do at all.

Harry pushed through the crowd until he reached the front of the bar. “Vodka and Coke please, make it a double on the vodka,” he said to the bar keeper, shooting the guy his best grin, just in case the barman happened to have a thing for messy-haired guys.

“Excuse me, but I think you’ll find you pushed in.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. Whilst he may not have been able to place Parkinson’s bored drawl straight away, there was no mistaking the plummy voice in his ear now.

“I said excuse me, but I will not be so polite the second time!” Malfoy snapped.

“I didn’t know you knew how to be polite,” Harry shrugged, accepting his drink from the bartender with a smile before turning and smirking as Malfoy’s thin mouth curved into a sneer.

“I suppose I should have known it was you with that bird’s nest on your head that you claim is hair,” Malfoy sniffed, his pale face illuminated in the bright lights.

Harry rolled his eyes at the jibe, “Grow up.”

“Me?” Malfoy said. “You started it!”

“How did I start it?”

“You pushed in!”

“I did not!”

“You did!”

“I didn’t!”

“Sexual tension much,” the bartender snorted, and they both glowered at him before turning back to each other.

Harry took a sip of his drink and took a step closer to Malfoy; Harry’s skin was itching with that adrenaline only Malfoy had ever been able to provoke in him. They were only a couple of centimetres apart in height so Malfoy must have grown post-war as well. Up close, he could see Malfoy’s pale lashes and chapped lips, his razor-sharp cheekbones and pointed chin. His features were just as pointy as they had been at Hogwarts, but there was almost something… Seamus’s words about Malfoy having a thing for Harry echoed in his head.

Harry cut his own thoughts off as Malfoy leaned over and stole his drink, taking a long sip of it.

“The fuck!” Harry spluttered, brow creasing. “That was mine!”

“You pushed in.” Malfoy simply shrugged as he placed the now-empty glass on the side.

“You fucking-” Harry started, fists clenching at his side as he got even closer to Malfoy. It was definitely the alcohol in him, but being this close to Malfoy felt electric.

“Fucking what, Potter?” Malfoy said, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip mockingly. It was hypnotising.

For a flash Harry debated swinging his fist, but instead he settled for something else. Harry knotted his fist into Malfoy’s shirt, his drunken brain not even processing how strange it was to see Draco Malfoy in Muggle clothes, and tugged the other man into a rough and desperate kiss. A spark shot down Harry’s spine as he felt Malfoy’s mouth moving against his. Malfoy’s mouth was wet and greedy, his hands reaching up and tugging almost painfully on Harry’s hair, but Harry didn’t complain. The kiss was electrifying and maddening, and Malfoy’s teeth dug into Harry’s bottom lip, but Harry just opened his mouth up eagerly. He wanted more. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he wanted more of it.

Malfoy’s hands burnt Harry everywhere they touched, and Harry, desperate for more, slipped his hands onto Malfoy’s narrow hips, tugging him closer until their bodies were pressed against each other. Malfoy let out a fucking groan and Harry was lost. He had hooked up with people who could kiss better many a time in his life, but he had never had something so maddening. he had never kissed the human equivalent of firewhisky.

Malfoy’s mouth tasted of cigarette ash and Harry’s stolen Coke and vodka, and what should have been disgusting was mouthwatering.

“Want to go somewhere more private?” Harry managed to get out as Malfoy moved his needy mouth to Harry’s neck, teeth scraping the skin and sucking a harsh mark into the skin. Harry tilted his head back to allow Malfoy more access. Harry caught sight of the bartender leering at him, and he reached up, tangling his hands in silky hair. Harry wanted more, and he wanted to get away from the bar before one of his friends saw him. They wouldn’t understand. How could they when Harry himself didn’t understand what he was doing.

Malfoy nodded, pulling away from Harry and revealing lust-blown eyes and swollen lips. Harry swallowed and grabbed Malfoy’s arm tightly, dragging him through the bar until they were outside where he kept walking for a minute until he found a suitable dark corner.

“Honestly, Potter,” Malfoy started, before Harry decided it was time to shut him up again and shoved him against the wall, kissing him silent. A silent Malfoy was a better Malfoy.

Malfoy ravaged Harry’s mouth, tongue pressing against his bottom lip before sliding in and exploring, attacking, retreating. Kissing Malfoy was a dance that Harry felt he’d been training for for years without even knowing it.

He could feel himself growing hard, and he pushed his hips forward, swallowing the moan that fell from Malfoy’s mouth. Malfoy never had been able to be quiet but Harry could deal with these noises.

Harry’s glasses dug into his nose, but he didn’t care.

Harry pressed a hand to Malfoy’s hardening crotch and laughed softly at the sharp intake of breath Malfoy let out. Harry was pretty sure he was drunk on the noises Malfoy made. Harry wanted to bring the other boy to the edge, dangle him them, and then push him over. Fucking Christ was Harry drunk on Malfoy.

“Well, you going to do something about it?” Malfoy murmured into the kiss, thrusting his crotch into Harry’s hand and letting his head bang back against the wall.

Harry had never been one to back down from a challenge and certainly not one offered by Draco Malfoy. He sucked on a spot just under Malfoy’s sharp jaw before sinking to his knees, enjoying the sight above him of Malfoy wide-eyed and speechless.

“Scared?” Harry asked, running his hands along Malfoy’s long, toned thighs. He was aware of what he said, of the heavy challenge that hung in the air, an echo of their old school days. They could move on and forget this ever happened, but it always would have happened.

“You wish,” Malfoy murmured back, his hands knotting into Harry’s hair again and giving a tug.

Harry smirked up at him and tucked his glasses into his glasses case. He’d learnt the hard way to take them off before sucking cock. He glanced up at Malfoy who was now just a fuzzy pale blur before mouthing the bulge in Malfoy’s jeans, then undoing them and pulling them down just enough to let Malfoy’s cock spring free. Harry curled his tanned hand around Malfoy’s pink cock, it was a sobering action and he let go suddenly.

“You’re married.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement that Harry had until a second ago forgotten about. He was an awful person. He fucking knew that Malfoy was married. He had just forgotten, drunk on Malfoy’s stupid mouth.

Glancing up, Harry stared at the fuzzy figure that was Malfoy. He couldn’t make out his face, but he could hear his panting breath.

“You’re married,” Harry repeated. He would do a lot of things, but he wouldn’t fuck a married man. Harry pulled his glasses back out and shoved them onto his face. What was Malfoy’s fucking problem? You couldn’t just go around hooking up with your old school rival when you were married!

Malfoy’s pointy face came back into view, he was wide-eyed and shaking his head desperately, Chest heaving and lips still red from kissing. Harry hated how fucking hot Malfoy had the nerve to look. Prick, hard and pink, curling upwards.

Malfoy continued shaking his head, “Not anymore, divorce papers being finalised,” Malfoy said, his breath catching in his throat.

Harry paused from where he’d been starting to get up from his knees, “You’re getting divorced already?”

Malfoy’s cheeks burnt red but he nodded. “Was an arranged marriage and I want out, now are you going to suck my fucking cock or not?”

Harry sunk back to his knees and took his glasses off again. If Malfoy were getting divorced that was a different game. Anyway, this was just a one night thing. Nothing deeper than that.

Harry flicked his tongue out tasting the head of Malfoy’s prick, smirking as Malfoy’s head fell back against the wall. “Why the divorce?” Harry asked, spitting on his hand, and reaching up and wrapping it around Malfoy’s cock.

“Is this your idea of dirty talk because I swear to-”

Harry didn’t let Malfoy finish his sentence as he took Malfoy in his mouth, tightening his lips and sucking him down. There was nothing gentle about it, no lingering looks or soft touches as Malfoy thrust into his mouth. Harry let his eyes flutter closed as he worked his mouth on Malfoy’s hot prick. He wanted to bring Malfoy to pieces. Harry took Malfoy deeper and Harry loved it. He loved every moment of it. Harry was used to doing this with anonymous strangers in club bathrooms. But with Malfoy, with someone he knew, it was even hotter.

Malfoy was panting above him and a string of expletives flowed from his mouth as Harry pulled off with an audible pop.

“The fuck?” Malfoy whimpered. Harry smirked, he had made Draco Malfoy whimper.

Harry placed a kiss on the head of Malfoy’s cock before standing up and running his hands up Malfoy’s chest. Harry didn’t know what the Department of Mysteries was having Malfoy do, but they should keep doing it. Harry may not have been able to see under Draco’s shirt (he could hardly see ten centimetres in front of him currently), but he could feel the lithe muscles.

“You never could shut up,” Harry said, pulling Malfoy in for another kiss and forcing his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth, not that Malfoy put up much resistance.

Malfoy let Harry kiss him before pulling back. He was too fuzzy for Harry to see him properly, but Harry imagined he was scowling. He could just about make out the pink tinge of Malfoy’s pale cheeks.

“Are you going to finish what you started?”

Harry scraped his teeth over Malfoy’s Adam’s apple. “I was thinking I could fuck you?” Harry’s lips curled up into a smile as he sucked a mark onto Malfoy’s neck and Malfoy’s breath hitched. Harry might have done this years ago if he’d known it was the best way to get Malfoy to shut up. Well, excluding Malfoy being an extremist Death Eater twat at the time, which admittedly would have been a slight turn off. Harry didn’t let himself think about what was lurking under Malfoy’s sleeve. The Ministry wouldn’t have hired Malfoy if he were still a pure-blood elitist wanker.

Harry pushed those thoughts from his mind as Malfoy spoke.

“Why should you fuck me?”

“‘Cause I just sucked you off?”

“What if I want to fuck you?”

Harry groaned and pulled back. “Do you want to flip a fucking coin?” Everything was a challenge between them, and while it did admittedly make things more heated,  at times like this it was annoying as shit.

Harry imagined Malfoy was scowling again. “I just don’t understand why you get to fuck me.”

Harry laughed and reached his hands around to massage Malfoy’s arse. “Okay, if we ever do this again, you fuck me?”

Harry couldn’t think of why they would do something like this again, not that it wasn’t amazing. It’s just that, well, they were them.

“Okay, this time you fuck me,” Malfoy huffed but recaptured Harry’s lips in a deep kiss, and Harry smirked into it knowing he’d won. He liked the promise of next time .

He removed one hand from Draco’s arse and reached into his jeans pockets, pulling out the tiny bottle of lube he’d brought with him just in case . Not that Harry had seen this particular situation arising.

Harry spun Malfoy around with more force than he would usually use, and Malfoy let out a low grunt that went straight to Harry’s cock. Harry knew Malfoy could take it; he knew Malfoy wanted it when he stuck out his arse for Harry.

Harry opened the lube and shoved Malfoy’s boxers down further. Harry pulled his glasses back on before coating his fingers in lube, as he didn’t want to miss a second of this. He wanted to see it all.

“Fucking hell, you’re tight,” Harry hissed as he worked a finger in. He nearly came on the spot thinking about how tight Malfoy was going to feel around his cock. Harry twisted and worked his fingers as he fingered Malfoy open, making sure to use as much lube as he could. Malfoy whined, and arched his back, shoving his arse to meet the thrusts of Harry’s fingers.

“Please,” Malfoy begged, voice catching as he turned his face against the wall to meet Harry’s. Sweaty blond hair stuck to his cheeks, and his silver eyes were dark with lust.

“What was that?” Harry murmured, pressing his lips to the back of Malfoy’s neck and crooking his fingers against that spot that had Malfoy whimpering.

“Please,” Malfoy repeated, and well, Harry couldn’t say no to a begging Malfoy. At earlier points in his life Harry would have said that Flobberworms are cuddly before imagining that Draco Malfoy would be a needy bottom, before imagining that one day Harry would fuck Malfoy.

Harry wiped his fingers on Malfoy’s jeans and cast the necessary protection spells. Harry had received a rather terrifying talk from Molly Weasley about the importance of sex protection charms, and now he would never forget them. Harry did not want to be thinking of Molly Weasley as he lined up to fuck Malfoy.

He eased in bit by bit, whispering encouragements in Malfoy’s ear, hands slipping under Malfoy’s shirt and tracing his sides. Harry felt Malfoy relax, and finally Harry bottomed out. He paused, counting to five and tried not to come from the tight heat.

“Fuck, Malfoy.”

“Yes, Potter, fuck me,” Malfoy hissed, shoving his arse back and causing Harry to let out a soft laugh.

“Bossy git,” he murmured, tightening his grip on Malfoy’s hips before pulling back and pistoning his hips forward. Malfoy pushed his arse back to meet every one of Harry’s thrusts as they grunted together. Harry slipped his hand around Malfoy’s front and wrapped it around Malfoy’s cock, stroking him in time to his thrusts.

Harry started to falter as he felt Malfoy’s arse clench around his cock.

“Fuck, I’m close,” Harry moaned as he thrust deep inside Malfoy, listening to Malfoy come undone on his cock. Fuck, Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to forget this.

“Me too,” Malfoy moaned, arching his neck. Harry leaned in and sucked another mark onto Malfoy’s perfect, long neck as he thrust his hips one last night and came with a shout, burying his head in Malfoy’s shoulder, not caring that his glasses pressed into his face.

Harry kept working his hand on Malfoy’s cock as he came, and he felt the moment Malfoy reached his own orgasm as his arse tightened even more around Harry’s now half-hard cock.

They stayed there against the wall panting for a couple of minutes, neither one saying anything as they came down from their orgasms.

Harry stepped backwards and tried to smooth his hair back over his forehead, “So that was…” he trailed off and got to tucking himself back into his jeans.

“Yeah it was,” Malfoy said, turning around, an almost soft smile on his lips. Harry couldn’t think of a time he’d ever just seen Malfoy genuinely smile.

Harry ducked his head as Malfoy sorted himself out, suddenly feeling awkward, “You’re not going to-”

“Tell anyone?” Malfoy finished dryly, and Harry shrugged.

“I’d rather this stay between us.”

Malfoy scoffed, “Of course you would.”

Harry bristled, “What’s that-”

“Relax Potter, I have no interest in anyone ever finding out about this either,” Malfoy deadpanned, and Harry grinned at him.

“So, I’m going to head back in now before my friends come looking for me,” Harry said, stepping away from Malfoy and back towards Wayne’s. “See you around, Malfoy.”

“See you around, Potter.” Harry paused at the hollow sound in Malfoy’s voice but forced himself to keep walking. It was none of his business. Malfoy was probably just sad about his ending marriage.

Harry had another shot when he got back inside and rejoined his friends in the dance area.

“Where have you been?” Ron yelled over the music, his face covered in bright red kiss marks. Harry laughed at the sight. “You got laid, didn’t you? You’ve got your I got laid face on!”

Harry winked at his mate and let himself be drawn back into the dancing. He’d just shagged Draco Malfoy. Would wonders never cease.

***

“Did I tell you the Slytherins were in Nice too?” Harry asked, sending Hermione a thankful smile as he took the cup of tea from her. Hermione had been perfectly happy not to attend the boys weekend in Nice, but Harry had come around as soon as they were home anyway. He didn’t want her feeling left out.

Hermione’s brows shot up as she settled down onto the sofa next to him with her own cup of tea. It was still weird for Harry to see Hermione without Ron, but they still did things as a trio a lot of the time so things weren’t awful. Harry was pretty sure his idiot best friends were still in love, but he wasn’t going to push them. They would end up back together when it was time.

“You didn’t.”

“Yeah, they were. Saw Parkinson and Malfoy.”

Hermione hummed and took a sip of her tea as she picked up the TV remote. “I suppose they were there celebrating.”

“Celebrating?”

“Didn’t you see in the Prophet this morning?”

“I don’t read the Prophet .”

“Oh of course, well there was an announcement that Astoria Malfoy is pregnant, so I imagine the Slytherins were out congratulating Malfoy’s fatherhood.”

Harry blinked. Pregnant. Malfoy. Fatherhood. None of those words sounded at all like divorce. None of them were connected to divorce.

“That fucking-” he started under his breath before biting his lip hard as Hermione shot him a worried look. “Bit young, isn’t it?” he asked, forcing a light-hearted smile.

“To us perhaps, but remember Malfoy’s family requires him to produce an heir, and the marriage was quite obviously arranged seeing as it happened straight after they both left Hogwarts…”

Harry tuned Hermione out as she kept talking. Fucking Draco fucking Malfoy, the fucking git. Harry hadn’t wanted a heartfelt relationship with the tosser, but he hadn’t wanted to become an accomplice to fucking adultery. He hadn’t wanted to hook up with a married man, and he had told Malfoy that, and Malfoy had fucking lied.

Malfoy had known that Harry wouldn’t go public with the truth even when he found out that Malfoy was married, because Harry didn’t want it fucking getting out either. Poor Astoria, pregnant whilst her husband gallivants arounds Europe screwing old school rivals.

A groan escaped him, and Hermione’s sharp eyes turned to him.

“Did I tell you about Neville falling off the table? Think he nearly got concussed again,” Harry said loudly to change the subject. He started talking before Hermione could interrupt him about what was going on in his head. Harry didn’t know what was going on in his head, all he knew was that he was staying away from Draco sodding Malfoy for the rest of his life.