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“It’s called soccer…” Draco feels Harry still next to him. Shit. He glances around for Thomas or Finnegan. Someone to jump on this grenade instead of Harry.

“It’s a game played with a ball and your foot. Football.“ Harry spits through gritted teeth, and Draco sighs. Once upon a time Harry spoke to him like that. Thank fuck those days are over.

"Oh I don’t think so buddy,” the American head auror, Jonathan, smirks, “football is something else… I’ve looked it up!” He looks so smug Draco wants to hit him. He snakes his hand around Harry’s waist to keep him still, because Godric knows if Draco wants to hit Jonathan chances are Harry will.

“Ok, I know what you may have researched, but I grew up in a muggle house. And here it’s football…” Harry moves forward and Draco tries to ignore the ripple of muscle beneath his fingertips. Not the time. Jonathan laughs, a sharp laugh that Draco would have been jealous of when he was younger.

“The great Harry Potter growing up a muggle? Next you’ll be telling me you were actually a dirty Slytherin!” He laughs again and Draco feels the anger swell in him. Fucking prick. Harry’s hand moves to his pocket and Draco’s mind starts to whir, running through all the curses Harry could throw, how to get him out of this situation, how to keep his partner safe.

“We wouldn’t have taken him,” Draco stands tall, keeping his back straight and his face placid, just like he’s been taught from birth. Jonathan looks at Draco, a slight sneer on his lips. Draco raises one curved eyebrow and ignores the questioning look from Harry.

“The Boy Who Lived? Sounds like just the sort of person Slytherins would love to brag about being near,” Jonathan practically spits and Draco squeezes Harry’s side.

“Clearly you don’t know what it takes to be a Slytherin,” Draco drawls, keeping his voice bored. He slowly releases Harry’s waist, rolling his sleeves up to reveal the faded mark, before sliding his long fingers between Harry’s. Harry stares at him with wide eyes and leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to Draco’s cheek. Jonathan watches, spluttering, and Draco allows himself a smirk.

Jonathan’s eyes almost pop from his head and he stands with his mouth gaping as Draco silently dares him to say something. Someone, probably Kingsley, calls for Jonathan and he turns and leaves without another word. He’ll probably go back to America and tell everyone about how the great Harry Potter is fucking a death eater. Oh well. Draco relaxes and leans his head against Harry’s, letting Harry’s strength flow over him, calming him down. Harry sighs and rubs small circles into Draco’s hand.

“Thank you for protecting me,” Harry whispers and Draco’s heart swells, his chest hurting with love.