Draco hurried through the corridors, gripping his wand a bit more tightly. In front of him, he levitated stacks of folders to be filed away in the Ministry Archives.
The Ministry was starting to buzz into life for the upcoming day. Voices echoed down the corridor; Draco dipped his head down and shifted a little closer to the wall.
“Look, it’s the littlest Malfoy!” A group of Ministry workers chattered and laughed amongst themselves. A couple of them bumped into Draco. “Oops—sorry!” Their laughter increased.
Their laughter hid a Finite Incantatem and the folders tumbled and scattered. Draco sucked in a short, sharp breath of anger. He stamped the swirl of feelings.
Draco startled and despite himself, turned his head to see what was happening.
A wizard—Harry Potter—was blocking the path of the workers.
It was all too familiar. Draco immediately turned his head away and crouched down to pick up the scattered folders.
“Don’t tell me it was just an accident, and even if it was, you should be helping your colleague,” Potter said, annoyed.
“We’re in a hurry,” one of the workers muttered back.
“Well, so am I.” Potter huffed sharply. “I’d better not see this again, or you’ll be suspended on bad behaviour—the whole lot of you.”
The other workers grumbled. Draco kept his head down, trying to focus on his task. He was very aware of Potter crouching down next to him.
“You should stand up to them,” Potter said, even as he helped Draco pick up the folders.
Draco kept his mouth shut against the indignant words that wanted to spill out.
They collected the remaining files silently. Draco spelled them back into some semblance of order.
Potter nodded. “Malfoy.” He waited only for Draco’s return nod and mutter of “Potter,” before he swept away down the corridor.
There was an ache in Draco’s chest as he watched Potter’s receding back. More voices down the corridor jolted Draco back, and he hurried away on his own business.
Harry was busy. Really busy. Thinking about how busy he was wasn’t helpful though, and telling off those witches and wizards for messing up Malfoy’s files was just yet another thing Harry had to do.
Harry’s schedule had recently filled up with work for the Hogwarts Re-Opening Ball as well as the behind-the-scenes work in preparation to house children at Hogwarts in the upcoming year. He had been meeting with other organisers and Ministry witches and wizards, plus numerous parents of Hogwarts students.
The days slipped past quickly: all too soon, the night of the ball had arrived.
Harry was one of the few unmasked participants, and at the start of the evening, he was at the door, greeting the disguised guests as they arrived at the Hogwarts courtyard. There was a large spell-dome that produced light and kept the warmth in; staffed tables with food and drinks; and a makeshift stage and podium.
Harry’s next and final task for the night was to get onto that stage and give his speech on the re-opening of Hogwarts. Headmistress McGonagall was the one to officially re-open Hogwarts—the children themselves would be arriving in just a fortnight.
But speech over, Harry couldn’t stand to mingle and force smiles on his face a moment longer. He slipped away, more than ever grateful for the second set of clothing Hermione had helped him to prepare: most importantly, it included a mask, and with his eyes temporarily spelled and the distinctive glasses tucked away, Harry re-entered the ball just like any other guest.
“I knew it!”
Draco ignored Pansy. Instead, he brightened the lamps around him and peered closer at the open books in front of him.
What he didn’t expect was a robe dumped on top of his head.
“Pansy!” He tugged the robe off to find Pansy leaning against his desk, arms folded and an unimpressed expression on her face.
“Do you even know what day it is?”
“The masked ball, for-fucking-Merlin’s-sake!” Pansy unfolded her arms and swept a hand out. “And here you are, studying. Didn’t you do enough of that back in Hogwarts?”
“I need to,” Draco replied, just as forcefully.
Pansy shook her head and dragged Draco up. “No, just one night, you’re going to have fun—and not with some Muggle.”
Draco shrugged her grip off. “Pansy, you know—”
“And you don’t know everything, so stop thinking you do,” Pansy grabbed his wrist with one hand and the robes with the other. “It’s a masked ball. No one will know who you are.”
“Pansy, your ideas have not gotten better with age,” Draco growled, trying to shake his captured arm free.
“You were invited, so you’re going. Even I’m going.”
“That’s not a logical reason for why I must attend. Regardless, I wouldn’t have anything to wear.”
At that, Pansy smirked. “Oh, but you do. The credit is all mine. Now, to your bedroom.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Pardon?”
Pansy rolled her eyes. “I know all your measurements, darling. Come along.”
Draco protested, but it came to a point that he gave in, if only to have some semblance of privacy in changing into the items Pansy had prepared for him. However, Pansy saw it as a triumph on her part, and after a flurry of preparations, she whisked them both off to Hogwarts.
“Now, darling,” Pansy whispered into Draco’s ear as they entered the open-air ball, “do me a favour and get laid.”
Draco frowned. As the noise of the ball swelled around him, he became unsure. In the safety of his home, in the fervour of Pansy’s (rather forceful) encouragement, the masked ball had sounded promising. Now, though; Draco touched his mask again, just one more check that it was securely in place…
“You’ll be fine,” were Pansy’s last words before she smirked and entered the crowd without him.
Someone bumped into Draco. An apology was immediately on Draco’s lips, but instead, the other person apologised to Draco.
He was masked, Draco reminded himself. The fit of the mask was light and comfortable—a barely there presence, except for a slight shadow at the fringes of his vision.
Just pretend it’s some Muggle bar. Just with magic.
With that in mind, Draco headed over to the bar to get a drink. His eyes immediately alighted on a firm build and dark hair. The way that wizard cocked his hip drew Draco alongside him.
“A firewhiskey,” Draco said to the bartender. His drink quickly came over. Only then did he turn to the man beside him.
Draco bit his lip when he saw the bright green eyes of the wizard next to him. A lot like P—
The man smiled shyly, though the look he gave Draco, sweeping up and down his body, was not nearly as shy.
Not Potter. Draco’s heartbeat eased back into regularity. He doesn’t know who I am.
Draco smirked back. “Having fun?”
Harry shivered with arousal when the blonde man, dressed all up in white, spoke in a low voice.
“I am now,” Harry murmured, sidling a little closer. “And yourself?”
The man tilted his head down, the height difference more pronounced. A part of Harry’s mind could already imagine tucking his head under the man’s chin.
“The night remains to be seen,” the man murmured back. He relaxed back against the bar’s counter top. “I would buy you a drink if they weren’t all free.”
Harry laughed. “They aren’t exactly free. The Ministry pays for them out of our taxes.”
The man rolled his eyes. “Do you really want to talk about taxation on a night like this?”
“Oh, yes, I need to make sure I’m not talking to a tax evader,” Harry replied lightly. He took a deep drink, arching his neck back just a little.
The man’s eyes darkened. “I work for the Ministry. Tax is automatically subtracted from my wage.”
“Oh?” Harry sat forward. “You work in the Ministry too?”
“Me and half of the wizarding Britain.”
“It can’t be that many. That means we might know each other.”
The man shuddered. “How utterly awkward if that were true.”
Harry smiled ruefully. “Yeah. I think I need another drink now.” Harry turned to call the bartender, but the man placed a hand over Harry’s mouth and smirked.
“Before that, we should have a dance.”
Harry gave the man a look, and he removed his hand. “What?” Harry said.
The man stood up. “One dance. Surely a man such as yourself can dance?”
Harry snorted. “Maybe at a club. Not—not ballroom dancing.”
The man smirked. “A good thing I can, isn’t it?” The man gave his outstretched hand a little wiggle. “And if you’re a little uncertain, I’ll just have to hold you a little closer, won’t I?”
Harry threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, one dance.” Harry gave the man a stern look. “Whoever you are, you better not embarrass me now or in the future.”
“No promises,” the man said lightly, and he pulled Harry out onto the dance floor.
One dance turned to many dances, and whilst the dancing wasn’t as…sensual as it could be, Harry had fun as the man twirled him round and round. Harry was breathless and dizzy by the time he and the man mutually decided to leave the dance floor.
“Time for your drink,” the man said, also breathless. “And you can dance.”
Harry laughed. They each retrieved a drink and moved to the edge of the crowd. “And that was a lot more than one dance!”
The man looked very smug despite the white mask that covered half of his face. “Why, thank you.”
Harry glanced around the Ball, still vibrant with noise and colour. He turned to the man, grinning. “Want to go exploring?”
The man gave Harry a sceptical look. “Exploring? Surely you were a Hogwarts student once?”
“I take it you were too, then. But,” Harry smirked, “I bet I know more of the grounds than you do.”
The man’s lips quirked. “Is that so? Then prove it.”
Harry took the man’s unused hand. “Oh, I intend to.”
And so they sneaked (stumbled) into Hogwarts castle with firewhiskies in one hand, each other’s hand in the other. Harry was a little disappointed that the man knew the secret to the Kitchens and the Room of Requirement, but there were dozens other rooms and passageways that he knew nothing about.
“I concede,” the man finally said in a huff, throwing both hands in the air. They had long abandoned their empty glasses in the Kitchens (where they had drank a third glass each). “How is it that you know so much? Sneaking out after curfew?”
Harry giggled. “Maybe.”
The man smirked (and how that made Harry feel, every time). “I wished I had caught you back when I was a prefect. There are a lot of convenient alcoves here.”
Harry wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I’ve never used them myself,” he lied.
The man’s smirk slowly widened. He gently pushed Harry against the wall in between two windows. “My mother always went on about how beautiful the stars are.”
“And?” Harry tilted his head up and rested his weight on the wall. “They’re just stars.”
“Precisely. The stars are beautiful, but I can’t eat them…however, I can eat you.” The man leaned in, his eyes focused intensely on Harry’s.
Harry’s heartbeat suddenly sounded too-loud in his ears. He flushed—from the alcohol, obviously.
The man smirked.
Not one to lose, Harry tugged the man closer and kissed him. For a moment, they parted; the man’s hands squeezed Harry’s arse cheeks. Harry gasped and the man’s lips descended, and Harry’s world narrowed to the heat, the wet, the tingling.
When the man pulled away, Harry’s lips unconsciously followed. Harry made a plaintive sound.
The man turned his head, pressing light kisses across Harry’s face. “Merlin, you’re so fucking good,” he mumbled into Harry’s skin.
“Please—” Harry gasped when the man nibbled on his ear. “Sir—”
The man’s head moved back and his hand lifted Harry’s chin. Harry blushed furiously.
“That was an acc—”
“Hush, that’s more than okay,” he whispered.
Harry’s eyes widened a little. The man held Harry’s head and firmly kissed him, and despite himself, Harry’s eyes fluttered close. His entire body shivered in the way the man held him so firmly and safe.
“Do you know the traffic light system?” the man breathed, lips brushing against the sensitive shell of Harry’s ear.
“Y-yes. Green.” Harry was rewarded with the curve of a smile and the kiss and grope that left Harry breathless and hard. “Fuck—my place?”
The man turned inexplicably serious. “Are you sure?” His question seemed double-edged.
Harry started heading outside. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it.”
The man extended his arm all prim and proper, but too serious for Harry to poke fun at. “Then let’s Side-Along.”
Harry apparated them to his place. They took their masks off, but by mutual agreement, left the lights off too.
Not soon enough, Harry was naked, on his back in his bed, arms held trembling above his head. The man sat over his chest, the head of his cock slipping in and out of Harry’s mouth. It was too big for Harry to take fully, but he did his best.
“You’re such a good boy,” the man moaned. “So beautiful.”
A shudder ran through Harry’s body. The cock slipped out of his mouth and dragged down his chest. The man moved down between Harry’s legs. Fingers touched and played and Harry moaned.
“You’re a good boy,” the man said sweetly. “I don’t want to hurt you, don’t you agree? Not today.”
Harry parted his lips. At the back of his mind, he knew this man was fucking hung, but fingers just weren’t enough. “Please.”
“You want to take my big fat cock, don’t you? You want my cock to stretch that pretty arse of yours.”
“Yes, sir.” Harry arched his back, spread his legs. The man breathed harshly; Harry bit his lip at the first inward press.
And then Harry was filled to the brim, fuller than he had ever been. Filled with cock, and warmth, and as the man continued to murmur, filled with an emotion Harry could not name.
And after they came and the man cleaned Harry up and tucked him in, Harry was, for the first time in a long time, utterly satisfied.
What happened after was a blur to Harry. At some point, he must have fallen asleep, because he woke up the next morning—to the most languorous feeling in his muscles and the loveliest ache in his arse. Even now, he could just feel the night, and it was a night well spent.
The man he had met was interesting, amusing. He had kept up with Harry in the best of ways. And though Harry realised that the man had been sharp and posh—and that in another life, they might have been enemies—the fact was that that night, they weren’t. And the night itself had been just...
Harry had really enjoyed it.
The warm feeling persisted throughout the day, even up to Harry’s visit to Hermione and Ron’s.
“Did something good happen?” Hermione smiled when Harry emerged from the Floo.
Harry smiled back. “Where’s Ron?”
Hermione sighed exasperatedly. “Sleeping off his hangover. So? What happened?”
Harry’s smile widened to a grin and he decided to tell her—he felt the need to share something, at least. “I met someone.”
“Someone?” Hermione gave him an expectant look.
“We danced. It was pretty fun,” Harry said wistfully. He could remember the way his black robes had swirled against his white robes.
“Did you get a name?” Hermione prompted.
Harry’s grin dropped. “No.”
“I see.” Hermione had a thoughtful look. “I guess that’s the end of that, then.” Her eyes brightened mischievously. “Was he blond?”
“Not this again,” Harry grumbled.
“Whether you admit it or not, you have a type,” Hermione said, smiling cheerfully.
“Moving on,” Harry said, “is Ron supposed to make lunch today? Or are we having takeaway?”
“My cooking isn’t that bad,” Hermione protested.
Harry laughed, and inwardly cheered himself for changing the topic as Hermione launched into the similarities between cooking and potions.
Draco was stocking tea, coffee and various other foods in the kitchenette in Potter’s department.
Fragments of that night played over and over in Draco’s mind. His work at the Ministry was mostly mindless, and so he found himself returning to the same thoughts over and over again. He had been plagued all Sunday; Monday was no different.
Draco had found a wizard who wanted him. Wanted sex and wanted conversation.
But that was only because that wizard didn’t know who Draco was. And that one night only made the rest of Draco’s life seem bleaker.
A relationship with any wizard was further out of Draco’s reach than ever.
Draco set down the last item, a box of custard cream cookies, when he heard familiar footsteps. Draco quickly turned away before Harry Potter could catch sight of him.
In the morning before work, Harry found a white mask under the bed. That man’s white mask. And Harry couldn’t stop touching it. On a whim, he slipped it into his pocket as he headed out to work; in his office, he took it out again and his fingers traced the curves and lines.
His arse still tingled in memory of the night.
“Oh, someone got laid.”
Harry jerked and quickly hid the mask under his desk. He was too slow, though: his co-worker, Romilda Vane, had clearly seen.
Romilda grinned and rounded to the side of Harry’s desk. “Was that a mask I saw? Met someone at the ball?”
Harry frowned. “This isn’t appropriate for the workplace, especially not here.”
Romilda closed Harry’s office door and cast a privacy charm. “Now, spill.”
Harry fold his arms. “No.” His lunged, a little too late, when Romilda Summoned the mask under his desk.
“A very pretty mask; definitely not yours,” Romilda mused. “Did he gift this to you?”
“He forgot it,” Harry grudging replied.
“A wizard!” Romilda said excitedly. “At your place? Who is he?” She leaned in close.
Harry leaned back, already regretting saying anything. “I don’t know,” he retorted. “Now give it back.”
Romilda pouted. “Any man who gives you such a good lay is worth knowing, if only for another lay.” Then, Romilda’s eyes lit up. “We’ve got to find him.”
Harry Summoned the mask back and ignored the butterflies that had suddenly appeared in his stomach. “No, I don’t—”
“Harry Potter, you deserve happiness. And I, Romilda Vane, shall find it for you.”
“Sex hardly means happiness,” Harry grumbled.
Romilda smirked. “So you did have sex. Just tell me all you know and I’ll find him.”
“Na-uh, don’t say that. Just leave it to me.”
Harry looked at her. Romilda looked back, unfazed. Harry sighed. “Then you have to be discreet, okay?”
“My middle name,” Romilda grinned. She cracked her knuckles. “Time to put my tracking skills to use.”
“Out of office hours,” Harry warned.
“Done. Now, tell me all about him.”
Despite the misgivings, Harry wanted to find his mystery man. “All right, fine. He was tall and blonde…”
It turned out Harry was right about his misgivings.
Given that he had told Romilda, of all people, he felt that he had to tell Hermione and Ron of this new find-the-mystery-man quest, and then somehow more co-workers in his department found out…and then one morning, a few days later, his face was staring back at him from the front page of the Daily Prophet.
It was the unmasked attire he had worn at the start of the Ball; there was an inset of the mystery man’s mask (and Harry did not know when such a picture could have been taken).
WHO IS HARRY POTTER’S SECRET PARAMOUR? the headline screamed.
Owls in the dozen flocked outside his windows. When he Flooed to the Ministry, he received dozens more proclamations in person; and yet more letters swamped his desk in his department.
Harry vanished the whole lot and slumped down in his chair. He cursed his naiveté in telling anyone about the night. Now, it was a public spectacle.
“Harry—” Romilda stopped abruptly when Harry glared at her. She smiled apologetically. “You’ve seen the Daily Prophet?”
Harry sighed. “Let me do my work.”
Romilda raised her hands up. “Hey, I’ll deal with all of it. I promised I’ll find the true wizard for you.”
“Sure, whatever.” Harry stood and walked past her to the kitchenette.
“You won’t be disappointed!” she shouted after him.
Harry sighed again. He perked up when he saw that there were custard cream cookies in the cabinet. Harry gave himself time to prise apart the two sides before eating them. A little guiltily, he took another. At least some things remained good no matter how shitty Harry’s life became.
When Draco arrived in the early morning for the start of his shift, he was annoyed with the sheer amount of littered Daily Prophets there were all over the foyer floor. He was about to Vanish the whole lot when the subject of the front page caught his eye. With a brief check to make sure he was alone, Draco picked up a less battered copy.
Harry Potter stood on a podium, speaking silently in the photo. But at the corner was an image of a white mask. Draco’s white mask.
The more Draco stared at the image, the more sure he became. Hurriedly, he turned to the text on the front page, and his heart beat faster and faster at the words.
That man was Harry Potter!
Draco had spent that night with Harry Potter. And…and the paper promised that Harry Potter was looking to date him. Date Draco.
Draco tucked away the front page and Vanished everything else. Words and plans tumbled through Draco’s head as he set off to work.
He saved Potter’s department for last, near the end of his shift. He tried to spend a little longer restocking everything. And when everything was done, Draco lingered nearer and nearer Potter’s office.
However, Draco only saw a glimpse of Potter’s messy black hair turning a corner, and then there were witches and wizards who blocked Draco’s way.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy?” one of them spat. “Go away!”
Potter was lost in the crowd. Draco froze his expression and left.
Pansy was waiting for him back at the Manor. Without preamble, she dipped her hand into his pocket and tugged out the front page. She waved it in his face. “You’ve seen it.”
Draco turned away from her, face set in a scowl. He shrugged off his robes. “Good morning, Pansy,” he said sarcastically. He folded his robe over his arm and headed to his bedroom.
Pansy trotted after him. “This is your mask.”
Draco’s head dipped down, ostensibly to open his bedroom door. Pansy followed him in and closed the door behind him.
Without turning around, Draco said, “Is it really?”
“And who was the one who bought it?” Pansy tapped the top of Draco’s head. “Darling, I did. Draco, you shagged your crush!”
“I don’t have a crush on anyone,” Draco retorted.
”Draco, this is your opportunity.”
“I tried to speak to him, okay?” Draco snapped. “The others wouldn’t even let me close.”
Pany sighed. “Then think of some other way. Owl him, do something to attract his attention.”
“If it was that easy, maybe I’d have that attention already.” Draco sat down heavily at his writing desk. “I’ll owl him, then.”
Pansy placed a hand on his shoulder. “Alright,” she said too softly. “I hope… Well, I’ll see you, later. I need to go to work.”
Pansy left with the clip of heels and the quiet opening and closing of Draco’s door. Meanwhile, Draco agonised over writing his letter.
But the owl returned, letter unopened.
The next morning, Draco was going to try leave his letter in Potter’s office, but there was already too much mail there already.
From other men. And if Draco could hazard a guess, these men were claiming that Harry had spent the night with them.
Maybe Draco was wrong.
Maybe it was just a similar mask. Maybe Draco’s mask simply wasn’t so unique, Pansy’s claims aside.
Almost certainly, one of these men were more suitable to go on a date with Potter.
Absolutely certainly, Draco’s letter would not stand out. If it were Draco, he’d Vanish all the letters.
Draco decided to save Potter the bother. He incinerated his own letter and left.
Potter’s department became almost impossible to stock up past eight in the morning. At six in the morning, though, the department was completely empty. Draco re-filled the sweets bowl at the reception, cleaned up the kitchenette and restocked it. Then, he turned, and—
“Malfoy.” Potter leaned against the door, a small smile on his face. “You’re the one who does this.”
Draco nodded shortly, even as his heartbeat sounded loud in his ears. “It’s my job.”
“I went to the other departments, but it turned out that only we had biscuits and chocolates,” Potter said, smile widening. “That means you put them here.”
“It’s for the children. When they come to your department.”
Potter’s expression sobered. “Yes. Thank you.”
Draco’s heart skipped a beat. “Potter—about the masked ball—”
Potter scowled. “You saw that mess in the papers?” He brightened again. “Romilda Vane found him for me. I met him yesterday and we’re going on a date tonight.”
“Oh.” Draco’s eyes flickered down. He forced himself to meet Potter’s eyes and smile. “How fantastic. Good luck for tonight.”
Potter nodded and smiled. “Thanks, Malfoy. You’re not so bad.”
Draco’s chest tightened. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to continue my shift.”
Potter immediately moved from the doorway. “Of course.”
Draco nodded shortly and exited. And inside, his mind repeated over and over, I was right.
Harry looked around the restaurant. It was a little more magical and fancier than Harry would have liked. But he supposed, given the man’s—Brian’s—dress on the night of the Ball and now, Brian was that sort of person.
Brian’s hand around Harry’s waist tightened. “Are you all right, Harry?”
Harry faked a smile. “No, I’m fine.” He tried to put the uneasiness behind him. Brian was the man. The same posh voice, the blonde hair, the height. He’d even put on the mask for Harry to see.
The nagging feeling persisted throughout the date, though. At the end of the night, Brian asked Harry to go back to his place.
“Is it near?” Harry asked.
Brian shrugged. “Yes.”
“Then we should walk. Take a look at the stars.”
Brian gave Harry an odd look. “Why?” He held his hand out. “Come on, Side-Along with me.”
Harry agreed. If nothing else, he was looking forward to getting laid by something more real than his dildo.
They appeared in the bedroom, and Harry tugged Brian in for a snog. But then it was Brian who lay down on the bed.
“I want you,” Brian said. He wriggled out of his trousers and pants.
Harry’s suspicions came back to the fore. “Do you know the traffic light system?”
Brian gave him a blank look. “No.”
“You’re not him.” Harry could barely hide his disappointment.
The brightness in Brian’s eyes faded a little. “Pardon?”
“You’re not him. Was this—just a ploy? Fuck, don’t answer that.”
Brian looked puzzled. “I definitely shagged someone that night…but even if we’re not the right match, we can still just have sex.”
Harry turned. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t. You’re a nice guy, Brian, but…” and he Disapparated back home.
He should have known! Harry paced around his bedroom, uncomfortably horny now, all the while cursing that he had trusted Romilda on something outside of work.
“Fuck it,” he muttered. He changed his clothes and Apparated away again to a street lined with London’s gay bars—Muggle gay bars. He entered one with a decent beat.
The thumping music—this was something Harry could dance too. The anonymity, this was what Harry needed.
Harry let his body move with beat, men’s bodies pressing up against him at all sides. He danced against them, revelling in the feel as they rubbed their crotches against his arse.
Harry moaned when he felt something particularly delicious grind against him, bulging and pushing into the dip between his arse cheeks. Harry tilted his head back and the lights flashed across his face and the man behind him.
Harry almost stumbled in surprise.
The music was surely too loud, but Draco heard his name. The man in front of him turned around—
“Potter?” Draco flushed when he realised he had been dry rutting against Potter, and thanked fervently for the haphazard lighting of the bar.
“What are you doing here?” Potter shouted.
“Me?” Draco said indignantly.
Potter frowned. All of a sudden, a silencing spell surrounded them. “What are you doing here?” Potter repeated.
“What about you? I thought you had a date with your man,” Draco said bitterly.
“It wasn’t him,” Potter grimaced. “Romilda was wrong. You didn’t answer my question.”
“Is it a crime for me to be here, Potter? It’s not like I’d be welcome in any wizard bar.”
“Why not? It’s not like—”
“I’m not welcome there,” Draco hissed. “Fuck, I came here to—fuck, I need another drink.”
Potter perked up. “Good idea.”
“I’m full of good ideas,” Draco growled. He stalked out of Potter’s silencing bubble and back into the thrumming noise. He called for two beers—handed one to Potter when he inevitably appeared next to Draco.
What Draco didn’t expect was Potter to be so down after his first drink.
“I can’t believe I believed,” Potter sighed. “He was tall and blonde—a lot like you, actually.”
Draco’s chest tightened. “Is that so?”
“We went to a posh restaurant. Too posh,” Potter moped. “And then we went to his place…”
“Was he a good lay?” Draco was morbidly curious.
Potter’s expression fell even more. “I don’t know! I left.”
“I’m a good lay.” Draco said idly.
Potter snorted. “I’m not that drunk.”
“You were rutting against me just a few minutes ago.”
“And you were rutting against me.”
“We should dance.”
Potter’s eyes narrowed. Draco lifted an eyebrow in challenge. Potter smirked. “Alright, let’s see how well you can dance.”
Draco stood up. “Oh, I can dance.”
“I’m not talking about fancy posh-y pureblood dancing.”
“At this moment, neither am I.” Draco tugged Potter away from the bar and in the mass of bodies.
They started off with some distance separating them, but when Draco made a move closer, Potter matched him by stepping in even more. Very soon, Draco’s skin was abuzz with the fleeting touches on his arms, his torso, his legs.
The lights did no justice to the motion of Potter’s body, but Draco felt every move against his own body. Draco’s hands landed on Potter’s waist and pulled Potter against him, and Potter went with the motion.
Potter’s eyes sparkled and he shimmied. “You like this.”
“Merlin, you’re so fucking edible.” Draco’s hands crept further and further down Potter’s backside.
Potter smirked. “Then kiss me.”
So Draco did. Draco felt a rush when Potter moaned and kissed back; by now, Draco’s hands reached Potter’s trousers. He rucked up Potter’s shirt, fingers teasing into Potter’s waistband.
Someone leered at Draco over Potter’s shoulder. Draco tightened his grip on Potter. “Your place or mine?”
“Mine.” Potter’s eyes were bright as he dragged Draco through the crowd. In a dark alley, Potter Apparated them to somewhere Draco was familiar with.
But this time, they turned on the lights. This time, as Draco entered Potter, they could see each other’s faces. This time, Draco could come with Potter’s name on his lips.
Harry felt the nagging hints of it beforehand, and it spiked when Malfoy asked him (again) about the traffic light system, but when Malfoy’s cock pushed in and stretched him and filled him perfectly, Harry knew.
That mystery man was Malfoy. Malfoy, who had been there the whole time, every morning before Harry went into work—still there if Harry came earlier enough, like just—just this morning.
“Draco.” Harry met Draco’s eyes.
Draco’s rhythm stuttered “C-colour?”
“Green. Call me Harry.”
Draco leaned over, eyes searching Harry’s. “Are you sure?”
Harry arched his back. “Yes.”
Draco still hesitated until Harry pushed back. Draco recovered immediately and folded Harry nearly in half in his quest to kiss Harry senseless.
It was just as good as the first night. Better, even, now that Harry could see, however limited without his glasses, the man he was in bed with. And when Draco came with Harry’s name, Harry followed uncontrollably.
Harry was moving back to wakefulness when Draco was cleaning him up. “Don’t go,” Harry said.
Draco gave him a wide-eyed look. “Potter…”
“It’s Harry,” Harry said firmly. He swung himself up and off the bed and pressed his glasses back on his face. “Wait, please.”
Draco nodded shortly and sat back down on the bed.
Harry quickly retrieved what he wanted. From Draco’s expression, he recognised the mask as well.
Harry held it out. “Put it on.”
Draco continued staring at it. “It’s—I—”
Harry huffed. He stepped right up and held it over Draco’s face. “You.”
Draco’s grey, grey eyes flicked up to meet Harry’s eyes. “I had a mask like this, but I don’t believe—”
“I believe that it was you.”
Draco’s chin tilted up. “What of it then? Are you going to accuse me?”
Harry removed the mask. “I like your face better like this.” He was charmed with Draco’s cheeks flushed pink.
“My face is uncommonly handsome,” Draco muttered.
Harry rolled his eyes. He put the mask on his bedside table and slid back onto the bed. “Stay the night.”
“Do you even understand who you’re talking to?” Draco turned his face away.
Harry folded his arms. “I know perfectly well that you’re Draco Malfoy.”
Draco’s face lifted. “Exactly,” he hissed. “I’m a d—a Death Eater.”
Harry’s gaze flickered passively to the faded Mark on Draco’s arm. It was an ugly thing, admittedly, but, “You were a Death Eater. I hope you don’t still hold those views now.”
“No—of course not,” Draco was quick to reply.
Harry eyed Draco’s posture, and went in for a different angle. “Don’t be such a defeatist, Malfoy.”
Draco’s eyes immediately flashed. “I am not. “
“Then prove it. Stay the night.”
“That’s a nonsensical way to prove it.”
Harry lifted his eyebrows. “What, are you scared, Draco?”
Draco took a step closer. “What would I be scared of?” he growled.
Harry shivered at the voice despite himself. “Of—of a little nonsexual intimacy. Of me.”
Draco pressed his lips together. “I have work early in the morning. Really early.”
“I know.” Harry tugged Draco anyway. “Stay. You didn’t the last time.”
Draco eventually sighed. “Fine, but don’t complain when I get up at the crack of dawn.”
Draco got into bed, but he lay on his back next to Harry. It was Harry who manoeuvred himself over so that he could tuck his head under Draco’s chin.
“A snuggler, hmm?” Draco drawled.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” Harry replied simply. He peeked up at Draco’s face. “But if you’re letting me do this, you must be a closet snuggler.”
“I am not,” Draco huffed. “Go to sleep already, you wanker.”
“Hmm, wanking…” Harry mumbled.
Draco’s hand came up and covered Harry’s eyes. Harry laughed softly and went to sleep.
Very early in the morning, just as promised, Harry awoke as Draco was getting out of bed. It wasn’t even light yet: the only light was Draco’s lumos.
“Hey,” Harry said blearily.
“Go back to sleep, Potter.”
“Hmm…” Harry grabbed Draco’s hand. “Meet up—tonight, I guess?”
“Is that you asking me out?”
Draco sighed. “Speak to me when you’re not half asleep.”
Harry smiled and eased back into bed. “Good. See you.” He closed his eyes.
“See you.” After a moment, lips kissed Harry’s forehead. “Now go back to sleep.”
Dates, banter, and more sex followed. As they knew would happen, their relationship was eventually splashed all over the newspapers.
Both Draco and Harry were prone to being contrary, however, and they snubbed and taunted the damn press. And while they don’t live happily ever after (“No one can be happy all the damn time, Potter.” “That’s too boring to live with, Malfoy.”), they did spend the rest of their lives together—
—But that’s a story for another time.