Chapter Text
“So, Mr. Malfoy, you claim that man tried to assault you.”
Harry Potter asked after slowly reading the files out loud, receiving a scoff from the victim – or assailant? – himself. No other than Draco Malfoy, his old acquaintance, who sat across from him, arms and legs crossed, looking not too happy to be there.
“Yes.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Harry hummed, taking another look at the paperwork, “since the man is at St. Mungo's being treated right now.”
“He was following me home, it was self-defense.”
“That’s not what the law classifies as self-defense.”
Draco pursed his lips, “Was I supposed to let him do whatever he wants?”
Green eyes stared at him, top to bottom, nonchalant. From the pulled buttons on his once perfect shirt, disheveled ash-blonde hair, wrists red, all signs of a struggle. That was not how Harry imagined their reunion to be, if they ever had one, now three years after the Malfoy trials, the last time they’ve ever saw each other. Harry took his time, taking in the sigh of Malfoy like that, before forcing his gaze away. It was a good look on him.
“I’m not saying you were wrong.”
“Let me go, then.”
“Even if I do believe in you, what’s written here is that you almost made the guy blind: it’s not that easy to let you go,” he threw the paperwork on the desk, hand moving upwards to pass through his hair. “To be honest with you, Malfoy, Robards told me to arrest you the moment he saw you coming in.”
Another scoff. Draco did not look impressed. He didn’t have the looks of someone who’d be easily impressed. “I’m overjoyed to see there’s still justice in this world. I’ll let myself be followed home next time, maybe I should invite the next guy for tea.”
“I’m not saying that, Malfoy. And I’m not arresting you – I’m just wondering if the extra paperwork I’ll have to deal with will be worth it.”
“I’ll be receiving charges for assault, then. How great. Another colour for my criminal record.”
“I’ll let you go without charges, or without having to pay any fees” he still owed Narcissa one, afterall. “All I’ll need is a picture of your current state.”
“For the paperwork?”
Harry smirked, “For personal use.”
Draco rolls his eyes.
“I’m joking. You’re free to go, Malfoy.”
“Finally,” Draco muttered, getting up. He grimaced, still sore from the fight, apparently.
Harry pretended not to take joy in that, keeping a polite smile that he had learnt working for the auror department these last years, “Work hours are over. Want me to walk you home?”
“I can walk myself.”
“Alright, try not to assault anyone on your way home,” he received an angry glare at that. Fair, “or be assaulted.”
Draco Malfoy closed the door with enough force for the slam to echo through the entire department.
Harry was livid.
────
“Did you know Malfoy works as a model nowadays?”
Harry decided to ignore the concerned glance Ron threw his way after he asked, the way he tended to ignore most of them whenever he knew the reason behind those, “Hermione said something about that a few months ago. Why?”
“It was written in his case file.”
“Ah, yes, he was here on Monday– The assault case?” Ron munched on his sandwich. “He really did a number on that guy, almost blinded him.”
Malfoy always knew how to throw a punch, honestly. His nose still itches whenever he remembers about that fistfight they had. Besides the jewelry box he used to hit said man in the head… Ron was one of the aurors who interrogated the man at the hospital, so he’d know more than Harry about the poor state the man was in.
“So, what did you tell Malfoy?”
“I let him go.”
Ron nodded, “You did good. That guy was clearly a stalker, from what he told us.”
“A stalker?”
“He saw one of Malfoy’s magazines and decided to meet him, apparently. He wasn’t speaking very clearly so we couldn’t proceed with the interrogation.”
“I didn’t think Malfoy was famous enough to have a stalker.”
“Well, yes,” Ron’s voice was filled with judgment, “he seems to attract those kinds.”
Harry laughed, taking it as a light joke. “It wasn’t like that, you know I had a good reason to.”
“That guy at the hospital also thinks his intentions are pure. You just never know, not with you.”
“Anyways, if he’s already having stalkers while underground, he’ll have problems when he hits big.”
“What? Do you think he’ll make it big?”
Harry couldn’t understand why Ron seemed so amused, especially if he’s seen Draco’s photos in a magazine like he said. Just from seeing him previously that week, the mess he was, Harry could admit he was attractive. Perhaps not in a modeling way, as he seemed more of the type you’d want to see out of clothes, not trying to sell them. “He’s rich. Pretty. Isn’t that enough for the job?”
“Would be, in a reality where anyone in the wizarding world would ever want to be associated with the Malfoy name.”
There’s a certain smile on Harry’s face that Ron never quite liked seeing. One that meant Harry just had one of those ideas, the bad ones. The one he had on right now. It forced a groan out of Ron’s lips.
“Don’t start, mate.”
“Start what?”
“You are both adults now. There’s no reason to pry into Malfoy’s business, and I’m sure you must’ve already looked around.”
Indeed, Harry spent most of his last night looking into Malfoy. Not because he thought he was up to something nefarious like in their teenage years, not because of whatever reason Ron thought of. Of course not.
He had a good reason this time.
Ron widened his eyes when he saw which case Harry lifted in his left hand, their latest headache. “You can’t be serious.”
Unfortunately, he was.
A corruption case, a hidden embezzlement of funds originating from the core of the Ministry of Magic. It’s been happening for years, even from before the war, and the aurors slowly took notice for the smallest of the inconsistencies in their reports. Robards gave the case to their duo, the only names powerful enough to go directly against the Ministry. The suspects all from affluent families and leading to the biggest suspect of them all: Aaron Burke, chief of the accountancy department.
The man would be 54 this year, though, from their reports, that was not one his preferred ages.
Burke was known for his frequent changes of arm candies. All young, most of them underground models or actors, trying to leech on him to make it big. Not a single one did, falling into oblivion the moment they left his side. Burke would be seen accompanied frequently, until his interest moved away and he got a new one to play with.
Harry and Ron were discussing hiring a spy. A decoy. Someone young; someone pretty. Someone who could defend themselves if needed. Someone in the fashion industry that could mix in with Burke’s circle. They had made a small list, with photos and basic information, a list that Harry leisurely flipped through — to Ron’s dismay— until it stopped on a certain page.
Draco Malfoy, it read, a candid photo of him taking a coffee. When was it taken? Who took it? Ron preferred not to ask. There was another picture, a cut from a magazine, where Draco had his bangs styled back and smudged makeup, staring intently at the photographer and, if he showed a bit more of his bare body, Ron would've though it was that kind of shoot.
“Absolutely no.”
“Hear me, Ron.”
“No,” Ron closed the file on Harry’s finger. “Not Malfoy.”
“He’s the perfect candidate for our little mission, Burke would love him” Harry insisted, opening the file again. “You were the one who said: we are adults, there’s nothing wrong with working with Malfoy.”
He wanted to punch that leisure smile out of his best friend’s mouth, but contained himself. “Malfoy is not the problem. You are.”
“I’m not a kid, I won’t be picking fights with him.”
“Why are you being so persistent about this if not to annoy Malfoy?!”
Because Malfoy was the perfect candidate, obviously.
Malfoy was an underground model with the looks of a supermodel. He had wits. He knew how to plan, yet knew how to act in emergencies. Harry knew the moment he saw him walking through his office’s door: Malfoy would know how to use his looks for their end goal. He already did, back in school, Harry remembers all the times Malfoy managed to get away from the things he said with a bat of eyelashes or a bite of his lower lip. Harry remembers all the faces of those who followed Malfoy around, hoping for the littlest of the chances.
Above all, they needed someone pretty to sell the façade. There’d be no one prettier than Malfoy.
“I just want someone whose abilities I’ve seen with my own eyes,” Harry says instead, looking at Draco’s candid picture. Their plan wouldn’t fail with him. Burke would bite into it.
Ron scoffs, stealing the file and taking a look at the description written, “Well, there’s just one thing you’re not considering.”
“What?”
“That Malfoy would never agree with this,” Ron throws the file back at Harry, who manages to caught it mid-air. “He’d never work with you, mate, not for the amount of money we are willing to offer– he doesn’t need it.”
Harry’s smile finally falters.
He takes one last look at Draco’s blissful picture, then closes the file, smile dead.
“You’re right,” Harry finally agrees, back to his chair. “He wouldn’t.”
Ron looks surprised, “I thought you’d insist a bit more.”
Harry shrugs, “It was just an idea, it’s not like I want to work with him.”
────
Two days later, Harry couldn't believe his own eyes.
Instead of saying anything, he calmly takes off his glasses, cleans the lenses on his shirt and places them back at the bridge of his nose. Then he blinks, taking in the full, clearer vision of Draco Malfoy leaning against the door of the auror’s office of London. He can’t tell the emotions behind Malfoy’s sunglasses, but he sees the way he raises one eyebrow, waiting for Harry to take the first step.
“Malfoy,” he greets, cautiously, “are you here to get jailed or did you forget anything?”
Draco scoffs, uncrossing his arms and stepping closer to Harry. “I wanted to thank you for bailing me out, actually.”
“You’d get bailed anyways; the guy admitted to stalking you.”
“Still,” Draco bit his lip, looking away, “I would be in for a night if not for you.”
Harry’s own eyes wander too much on the bitten lip, “Draco Malfoy, back to thank me? That’s not you.”
“It’s not, that’s why you should be thankful for the opportunity.”
“Opportunity of what, exactly?”
“Taking me to dinner, Potter.”
Harry blinks. Then laughs. Feels like laughing even more when he notices the pink blush that appeared on Draco’s cheeks and nose tip, “Yeah, sure. Were you banished from the Malfoy’s wealth? Do you go around asking to be treated for dinner now?”
“What? No?” His cheeks go almost red now. “Of course I’m paying, Potter.”
“I’m not sure what you are planning this time, Malfoy, but count me out.”
Before he can step away to leave, Malfoy mirrors his movements, once again in front of him. There’s a pout on his face he’s probably not aware of, for Harry’s amusement. He’s even more amused when Draco’s hand meets his chest, silently asking him to wait while he thinks of an way to convince him.
“Just dine with me. I’m not planning anything.”
“Really?” Draco nods. Harry hums, taking his time to think. He’s sure that being able to see Malfoy’s full expression would help him with that, so he lifts his sunglasses without complaints from the blonde, who looks up to compensate that one or two centimeters Harry had over him. As always, Harry cannot sense a drop of honesty in those grey eyes, “I don’t believe you.”
“You never do.”
“For a reason.”
“I’m not planning to kill you over dinner, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking there’s something you want from me.”
“That’s…” Draco frowns. “That doesn’t mean it’s anything bad, does it?”
“It doesn’t,” Harry agrees, stepping away from Malfoy’s hand that finally falls off his chest, “but I can’t never tell with you.”
There’s a pang on his chest when he looks at Malfoy swallowing his own pride that way. He thinks about the conversation he had with Ron that week; he thinks about the stalker from Monday. It leaves Harry with that tingling sensation he often feels when someone needs help, his saviour complex acting up once more.
Still, this was Malfoy.
The uncomfortable, tingling need to help mixed with the thrill of seeing Malfoy desperate, the same thrill he felt back in the room of requirement, when he extended his hand to a crying Malfoy lost between the flames. He wondered how much he could push his limits until Draco clinged to Harry — the one he despised for so many years — for salvation.
And, above all that, Harry felt a dying curiosity to know what Malfoy was up to.
“Alright.”
“I understand you don’t–” he stopped the moment he suspected his ears of failing him. “What?”
“Dinner sounds nice, Malfoy, as long as you're not planning anything.”
Draco purses his lip, seeming a bit contradicted but nodded after a beat, “I’m not.”
The restaurant he chose was not that far from Harry’s workplace, a fancy diner hidden by skillful charms that made the place look like an alleyway for all wandering muggles. Harry did not expect Malfoy to lead them to a muggle restaurant, of course. It wasn't a surprise, the surprise was the table reserved under the Malfoy name, which makes him side-eye and be ignored by the blonde, who walks towards their seats as if nothing was wrong or at least suspicious.
Harry stakes his own seat across Draco in the candlelight table, not the best place for an interrogation, “What do you want, Malfoy?”
Instead of answering, he picks up the menu. “We should order first.”
Mirroring him, Harry is disappointed to know there's not a single word he understands in the French menu. Of course that posh bastard would take him somewhere like this instead of a pub or family diner. Of course. And he'd take joy in it, too, in Harry’s lack of couture or whatever.
“Meat or fish?” Draco asks without taking his eyes off the menu, pretending he did not notice Harry’s lost expression.
“Fish.”
“Ask for the poisson à la bordelaise, you won't hate it.”
For once, he trusts Malfoy. He’s the one paying afterall. If this was a prank and something horrendously disgusting showed up, Harry’d just go home and forget about this. Draco asks for wine and some sort of salad for himself, thankfully not forcing Harry to say the French fish name as he asks himself for it. The moment the waitress leaves, Harry insists, “What do you want?”
Draco cleans his throat with the wine, “Are you still with the She-Weasley? Romantically.”
“Ginny? What? No”, Harry shakes his head, ignoring the way Draco pops his lips, darkened by the wine. “Does she have anything to do with it?”
There's no way Draco would ask to be introduced to her. First reason, one Harry has known since school: Draco Malfoy was gay. Second reason, Draco Malfoy would never in his life ask anything from a Weasley, especially one in a completely different field than his, one that could not be of any help to his modeling career or anything of the sorts.
The third reason, Draco says it himself, else Harry would not even entertain those thoughts, “I’m just curious about how your life has been.”
“You can read all about my life in the papers, there's no need to ask me personally.”
“Are you bragging about your fame, now?”
Their food arrive, Draco’s sad excuse of a salad with some sort of white meat mixed in, and Harry’s fish that, he has to admit, looks good. Instead of taking a bite, Draco finishes his glass first. Harry forces himself to take a bite himself. Not bad. Another one. Draco looks satisfied at that, finally paying some attention to his salad.
“I should be one curious about you,” Harry tries to get any information he can. “You said you are working as a model.”
“Well, yes.”
“That's surprisingly normal for you.”
“I don't think anyone would describe a modelling career as ordinary, Potter.”
“I was sure you’d go into politics or whatever”, he watches as Draco pours them both another glass. “No, actually, I’m sure you mentioned wanting to become a healer in your trials.”
Grey eyes darken at that, subtle, just for a second or two, “It didn't work out. I dropped the healer training when I understood that it was not meant for me.”
Harry hums, savouring his food, “You wouldn't be a subject of stalking if you went to become a healer instead of a public figure.”
A scoff leaves his lips, echoing into the wine glass, “Oh, please, I was a subject of stalking when I was still a student, wasn't I?”
“Is this dinner about a stalker? The same one from Monday?”
“I haven't seen him since that day.”
“Then what is this dinner exactly about, Malfoy?”
“Well,” then there was it. The moment he places his glass on the table and drags his tongue slowly against his lower lip, cleaning the cherry stain and forcing Harry's focus on them. A smirk, subtle, and their eyes meet, shining with something Harry was used to seeing in the past. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”
Harry has seen plenty of these seduction attempts to know they are a trap. He scoffs. “You could trick anyone with that face of yours, Malfoy.”
Calmly, Draco agrees, “I could.”
Yes, Harry's seen many fall for the same trick back in school. A bat of eyelashes for the silence of a random Hufflepuff who happened to spot Draco’s bullying, a lingering touch when asking for help cheating from a Ravenclaw. Never directed at Harry, but something he saw happening numerous times under his watchful eyes.
“But not me.”
Cleaning his mouth on a napkin, Harry gets up. There's no use staying if his plate is already empty, with Draco following his movements. As he puts on his coat, he can't help but comment, “You barely touched your food.”
“I’m on a diet.”
As if there was any weight to lose. Harry decides not to comment.
They leave side to side and, when they step out of the door, Harry wonders if he should say something. Ask something else. Ask again what his objective was. Ask if he was truthful about wanting to meet him. Harry turns on his heels, awkwardly, believing he should at least say his goodbyes.
He’s met with Malfoy’s frown, an hesitant expression he never saw on the man before, as if he could feel any regret for future or past actions.
“I’m sorry about this”, Draco whispers.
Before Harry can react any way, by stepping back or pulling his wand from his trousers, he's suddenly pulled by his tie into a kiss.
Merlin. He's kissing Draco Malfoy. Why? Their tongues didn't meet, only their lips against each other for an awkward amount of time. They were still moist with wine. Harry wanted to open his mouth, taste that ridiculously expensive wine once more, but was stopped by a flash of light.
A camera. Multiple flashes in their direction forced Harry to finally understand what this stage was all about. He almost laughs against Malfoy's lips, trying to pull away just to be forcefully pulled back in. Draco’s eyes, even though closed, can still recognize the flashes and position their bodies to the nicest angle possible for the paparazzies.
When they finally separate from each other, Harry is not sure whether to laugh, punch him or walk away. “I can't believe this”, he says instead. “You wanted to make a scene for the papers?”
Somehow, Malfoy seems apologetic about his stunt. Embarrassed, maybe, for the way he refuses to meet Harry's eyes with his cheeks all flushed.
Without apologizing a second time, Draco Malfoy runs away, leaving Harry to deal with the sea of flashes by himself.
────
Next day, Draco Malfoy is by his door, fuming.
Harry lifts one eyebrow, dubious, and makes a move to close the door in his face, though Draco manages to be quicker and steps inside Grimmauld without being invited, starting with his also uninvited rambles, “You should’ve told me you were married!”
A sigh escapes his lips along with a headache that was beginning to pool near his scar. Harry crosses hid arms and leans against the wall, too tired to argue, “I’m not.”
“Then why are all the articles calling me a homewrecker?!”
Draco throws the papers he's holding in the air. Oh, yes, Harry has read those. And so did Lacy, his now ex-girlfriend that woke him up with a sequence of not very amicable howlers. Former Death Eater Draco Malfoy ruins Harry Potter’s relationship. Death Eater and Homewrecker; the life of Draco Malfoy. An Affair that should've stayed hidden. Harry glanced at those titles with nonchalance, too tired to even react at the various angles of them kissing.
“You said you were not with the Weasley anymore.”
“I wasn't,” Harry yawns, “I was seeing someone else.”
Someone he was actually planning to break off with, he didn't add. Someone he went out once or twice and didn't even properly date because Draco decided to pull a stunt for the reporters before everything got too awkward for Harry to jump out. Draco didn't need to know he ruined a relationship already ruined from the start, Harry knew that would get over his head.
All remorse Harry saw in his face the night prior was, however, gone. A forgotten memory. In its place, Draco glared at him as if he was the victim, the one who suffered a great fall and was now expecting to be rewarded a compensation. Harry did not have the patience for this, whatever this was, right now. Not after all those howlers.
“Do an interview and say you broke up with whatever woman you were with before I came into the picture.”
All Harry can muster is a short, unamused laugh. “Yeah, no.”
“There's virtually no reason why you would–”
“No, Malfoy. You got yourself into this situation by yourself. Now, please, for the love of God, just leave.”
Draco purses his lips. He spends a beat in silence, unwilling to move, and Harry is wondering if he should pick him up and throw him outside when Draco speaks again, voice quiet.
“I’ll do anything.”
“Anything but deal with the consequences of your acts?”
“Listen, no brand or photographer will want to work with someone who has the reputation of a homewrecker.”
“How sad.”
“Especially if I’m known for ruining the loving relationship of the nation’s golden child.”
“Shame, isn't it?”
“Please.”
For his lack of remorse, Draco conveys anguish instead. Anguish at the thought of his career’s downfall, which Harry could now bury with a touch of his finger. He could tell the reporters the truth, that Draco made it all up for clout. It was not the first happenstance; many have tried with all kinds of stories. Or he could also give him what he wanted, all the five minutes of fame and glory for managing to seduce their saviour even with their broken story.
Harry thinks about it, and maybe he thinks for too long, as Draco’s impatience makes him throw himself against Harry chest, tugging his fists into his shirt for a last plead. “I’ll do anything you want, Potter. Just help me out this once.”
It only takes one look into his eyes — shining with what appeared to be tears forming on them, though Harry knew Draco would never shatter a truthful tear for him — for Harry to be convinced. Draco could convince any man with a face like that. And that was exactly what Harry needed for now.
“Anything?” he mutters back.
“Anything.”
Harry looks even lower, at Draco’s open collar and loose blouse, taking a peek into his fair chest and a hint of pink. Burke would love him. “You’re lucky, Malfoy. I can actually think of a few way you can be useful.”
Draco, blinking in the middle of his confusion, is pushed away but not thrown outside as he expected. Instead, Harry waves for him to follow his steps deeper into the house, which Draco does hesitantly.
“Sit down and I’ll explain the case”, Harry motions. “I’m sure we can reach an agreement, Malfoy.”