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It was just past dawn, the soft yellow light glow across the master bedroom of Grimmauld Place. Inside the large four-poster bed, two figures remained tangled together. Pale skin intertwined with a tanned, muscled form, evidence of a night spent in familiar embrace, a ritual they'd perfected over the past year they lived together.
Despite the growing light, they remained deep in sleep until the sharp, insistent cry of a newborn, no more than six months old, pierced the quiet of the flat. The sound stirred a movement from the sleeping forms. A calloused hand, roughened by years of training, drifted gently over the smooth skin of the paler man, who responded with a soft moan.
The baby's cries intensified, clearly indicating that the house-elf, Kreacher, wasn't performing his duty. The sound finally managed to drag the couple toward consciousness, though "fully awake" only applied to one of them. While Harry remained a heavy, stubborn weight of sleep and muscle, Draco opens his eyes with concern etched on his faces.
"Harry... James... James is crying.” Draco murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
"Hmm... ignore it... that's why we have an elf, babe.” Harry mumbled into Draco’s shoulder, his grip tightening as he pulled the smaller man back against his chest.
Draco let out a weak, half-hearted protest. "Harry, stop it... I need to check on him...”
"Stay here just a little longer." Harry’s voice was a low, husky growl as his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of Draco’s neck. "I’ve waited weeks for a night where it's just us... Don't go yet.”
"But—”
"Shh, let me love you for five more minutes.”
“..Harry…”
“Draco…”
hihh hihh
Waaahhh!
The cry shifted from a whimper to a full-blown, glass-shattering wail.
"Move away! Now!" Draco snapped, suddenly bolt upright. The motherly instinct won out over the morning haze. He scrambled out of bed, grabbing a sheer robe that had been tossed over a nearby chair, which, in truth, covered almost nothing. The transparent fabric clinging to his lean frame and showing every curve Harry had spent the night worshiping.
Although Draco’s life as the world’s most famous housewife had been smooth so far. Kreacher usually handled the early shifts, allowing them these rare, stolen moments of intimacy. But a hungry baby didn't care about romance.
As Draco padded towards the nursery, the sheer robe swaying with each step, Harry watched him, a slow smile spreading across his face. He loved these quiet mornings, the domesticity that had settled over their lives, even with a demanding infant. He closed his eyes, already anticipating Draco's return. Before he is jump with the loud voice of Draco calling for him.
“Harry James Potter! Get your ass in here and help with your son! You aren't going to just shag me, get me pregnant, and then leave all the responsibility to me!”
Harry’s eyes snapped open. He grinned, feeling a rush of affection for his fiery wife.
"On my way, love!" Harry called back, kicking off the covers and rushing to join his family.
---
For the past nine months, Draco’s life has been defined by a very specific morning ritual. It begins at six o’clock, attempting to disentangle himself from Harry’s possessive embrace. Harry always finds a way to anchor him, a heavy arm draped over his waist, a leg hooked over his own, making it impossible for Draco to stir without Harry noticing immediately. This leads to a predictable lingering ten-minute battle of wills. Harry begins his morning plea, murmuring into Draco’s neck for just a few more minutes of sleep. His octopus hands already roaming with a needy, wandering curiosity. Every attempt Draco makes to slide toward the edge of the mattress is met with a tighter squeeze and a wave of lazy, sleep-warmed kisses that threaten to pull him right back under the duvet.
Once Draco successfully escapes the gravity of their bed, he slips downstairs to make breakfast with Kreacher. He keeps the pace quick to tend to more important appointment in the nursery. James is usually stirring by then, hungry for his favorite meal, Draco’s nutrition’s breast milk.
Harry used to rely on an alarm clock, but he discarded it once he realized Draco had made it his personal mission to ensure the Head Auror reached the Ministry on time. Now, Harry simply lies in wait, refusing to start the day until he receives a morning kiss from his wife. Only after that ritual, and a hurried Floo to the Ministry, does the house belong to Draco.
Draco’s days are a mix of household chores and pampering himself. When he isn’t playing with James or reading in the sunroom, he can be found in his herb garden, harvesting ingredients for the potion station he set up across from Harry’s study. It is a quiet, dignified life, interrupted once a week by the arrival of Pansy Parkinson. She descends upon Grimmauld Place like a whirlwind, ready to take Draco away for a shopping spree in uptown London. On those afternoons, James is left in Kreacher’s capable hands. Occasionally, Blaise and Theo join the party, though their careers often keep them away. When they do visit, they arrive with an obscene number of toys, taking turns playing airplane until James’s giggles fill the ancient house with a light it hasn't seen in centuries.
One day a week is reserved for a more delicate duty, visiting his parents. Although Narcissa and Lucius are still under house arrest at the Manor, they practically live for these moments with their grandson. Lucius, however, can’t help but feel an internal cringe every time he looks at the boy. To his dismay, little James is a miniature carbon copy of Harry, inherited everything from those infamously unruly dark curls to the slightly arrogant set of his facial features. But his worried thoughts fade away when he sees the boy's only saving grace, at least in his opinion, which are the piercing grey eyes that clearly portray the long, prestigious line of Malfoy blood.
Narcissa, on the other hand, spoils the child to no end. She showers him with so much attention and so many treats that Draco often has to step in and intervene. If he didn't, he’s certain his mother would successfully turn the toddler into a permanently chubby little lord before he even reached his first birthday.
The rest of his week is spent alone during the day and passionately with his husband in the evening. Harry is incredibly devoted and, if you ask Draco, far too clingy, but he would never dream of complaining about the attention.
At first, the tabloids were very skeptical of their relationship. They printed photos of them on dinner dates with mean headlines like, “The Boy Who Lived spotted with the boy who made all the wrong choices.” They mocked their pairing and waited for it to fail. However, as the months went by, people got used to seeing them together. The headlines slowly changed. Now, they focus on Draco’s expensive clothes, his elegant grocery lists, and his "secret charm" for keeping his husband happy. He has been labeled the perfect housewife, a role he secretly loves. He even spends hours planning his outfits with Pansy weeks in advance to make sure he looks exactly the part for the cameras.
Especially with how fast Harry moved up in his career, it felt like he was just a trainee a few months ago. But deep down, everyone knew he deserved to be Head Auror from the moment he defeated the Dark Lord two years ago. When Robards retired early due to his health, many experienced officers waited for the Minister to choose them. But as soon as the name "Harry Potter" appeared on the list, all their hope died. Who were they to compete with the Savior of the Wizarding World? Their daily paperwork and small cases could never compare to saving the entire world, it wasn't even close. So, Harry became the Head Auror just a few weeks after finishing his training. This change brought even more attention to Draco. Being the young, beautiful, and perfect partner of the youngest Head Auror in history made Draco’s smile grow even wider. He loved the status, the eyes on them, and the fact that they were the most talked-about couple in London.
The public's obsession grew so much that a popular tabloid asked Draco to write a weekly column about the meals he cooks at home. Harry gave his full approval, so Draco accepted the offer. Now, he is famous across the wizarding world as the ultimate housewife, and he truly loves the spotlight. He enjoys being seen as the ideal partner to the perfect husband. It brings him a deep sense of joy to know that other witches and wizards are jealous of their beautiful home and happy marriage. Looking back, he can’t believe he almost said no to this life. When Harry first offered to help reduce his father’s prison sentence in exchange for their marriage, Draco had been unsure. He had no idea then that "serving his husband" would become his favorite job in the world. Now, every time he sees their happy family in the news, he knows he made the best choice of his life.
Not only that, but ever since he accepted Harry’s lead, his life has never been better. All of his obstacles have vanished as if they never existed. His father’s prison sentence for past crimes? Handled. His family’s dire financial situation? Fixed. He has never felt safer or more valued, not even under the protection of his own parents. While Narcissa loves him dearly, she has her limitations, she simply couldn't provide everything he wanted or needed. Harry, however, has no limits.
So, yes, everything he does now is to serve his "perfect wife" agenda. But most importantly, he isn’t just anyone’s wife. He is the wife of THE Harry Potter. He is the one in the position that everyone else wants but can never have. The boy who was once a fallen prince is now the queen of the Wizarding World’s greatest hero. It is a victory more delicious than anything he could have dreamed of.
As for his love life... where should he even begin? Harry is clearly insatiable, which is no surprise given how exhausted Draco used to be trying to keep up with his demands before James came along. Every interaction was so intense it left Draco breathless. He reached his limit more times than he could count since he first moved into the Potter household. Every surface in the house became their playground, usually with Draco pinned down while Harry, still fueled by the adrenaline of his intense Auror duty, took him with a desperate, erratic energy.
Once the pregnancy became too risky, and during the first few weeks after James was born, things finally slowed down. Their intimacy shifted to soft kisses, lingering caresses, and whatever they could do with their hands and mouths during the recovery period.
But now that he is fully recovered and they have found a stable, synchronized rhythm as parents, that raw hunger has come back in full force. Pray for Draco because he is going to have a rough months trying to satisfying both his needy baby boy and insatiable husband.
Take this morning, for example. Draco had fetched James, fed him, and prepared breakfast early. He was so efficient that there was far too much time left before work, an opportunity Harry was never going to let pass by.
“Hahhh... hahhh... hahhh...”
A labor breathing is loud in the small restroom they use to shower together this morning. Draco naked body tangle limply with his back to the basin, leg rise up hugging Harry’s bare hip. Hand clutches at the muscled back while Harry still buried inside him with throbbing erection. Their activity had just ended, and Draco thanked God for that, because his legs were about to give out at any minute.
If it weren't for Harry's strong arms holding him up, Draco was certain he would have slid right onto the tiled floor. He rested his forehead against Harry's shoulder, trying to catch his breath while the steam from the abandoned shower swirled around them.
He looked at the nightgown that had just been disposed of, and the state of it was... unusable. The expensive silk was torn and soaked, lying in a messy heap on the wet floor. Merlin, that was the set Pansy had bought for him all the way from France. It had lasted less than ten minutes against Harry's impatient hands.
Draco let out a weak groan, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt Harry’s lips press against the damp skin of his neck.
“That was a gift, you brute.” Draco murmured, though his hands were still tangled in Harry’s messy hair, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. “Do you have any idea how much that cost? Or how long she’ll lecture me when she finds out you ruined it?”
Harry didn't look sorry at all. He just let out a low chuckle that vibrated against Draco’s chest, his grip tightening possessively.
“I’ll buy you ten more.” Harry whispered, his voice still thick with desire. “But only if I get to tear those off you, too.”
“Pansy is going to kill you…” Draco sighed as he recovered, his voice still a little breathless. He tried to imagine his friend’s annoyed face, hoping the thought would dampen his own lingering arousal, and wishing that mentioning her name would have the same cooling effect on his insatiable husband.
“She might, but she won’t. She doesn't want to lose the job her dear friend worked so hard to get for her, does she?” Harry’s eyes flickered with amusement.
The memory of how he had secured Pansy’s job made Draco’s face burn even hotter. He had spent an entire week exhausting himself, using every shameless trick and seductive posture in his collection to convince Harry to hire her. On the surface, he told everyone it was a selfless act for Pansy’s future. After all, her past associations made it nearly impossible for her to find decent work.
But deep down, Draco’s motives were far more possessive. Harry was his now… his husband, his protector, his life. He wasn't about to let some random, ambitious witch or wizard spend eight hours a day outside Harry's office trying to catch his eye. Not that he doubted Harry’s loyalty, but Draco was a firm believer that prevention was better than a cure. He was so intensely jealous that he simply couldn't trust any woman he hadn't personally appraised to be that close to his man.
Seeing the deep flush on Draco’s face, Harry let out a soft, satisfied hum. He leaned in for one last firm kiss, his hand giving Draco’s waist a possessive squeeze that made the blond’s breath hitch.
Reluctantly, Harry finally stepped back. He needed to get ready for work before he lost his resolve entirely. No matter how much he wanted to ignore the Ministry and stay in this room forever, the Head Auror had a job to do, and Draco had a reputation as the perfect housewife to maintain.
______________________
Today was Sunday, and it was already ten past ten, which meant Pansy was going to appear at his front door at any moment. She was never one to respect the quiet holiness of a morning, and her timeliness was as aggressive as her fashion sense.
Knock-knock.
“Hello, twat.”
Draco turned to look at his friend, who appeared in the doorway the second Kreacher opened it. She strolled inside as if she owned the place. Well, it was Harry’s house, which meant it was Draco’s house, and by extension, it belonged to their entire inner circle too.
“Language, you cow.” Draco snapped, though there was no real heat in it. “The baby is at an age where he picks up words quickly. If you didn’t know that, consider getting a basic education to fill the hole where your brain should be.”
Pansy feigned shock, letting out a fake gasp and clutching her hand to her chest.
“Oh my! No need to be so dramatic. I was only going to ask if motherhood has made you soft, or if it's just the Head Auror keeping you occupied all night.”
“Pansy, for Merlin’s sake...” Draco groaned, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll stop.” she laughed, waving a hand dismissively. “But only if you move your ass. You have fifteen minutes to get ready for H. Samuel. If I have to wait any longer, I might actually die of boredom. My company is far too expensive to waste on a slow-moving housewife, darling.”
Draco sighed, though he was already moving. He called for Kreacher to take James, handing the baby over carefully before heading upstairs to change. Meanwhile, Pansy made herself comfortable on the sofa, looking perfectly at home as she waited to start their weekly ritual of spending Potter’s gold.
She reached for a crystal bowl of sweets on the coffee table, picking out a chocolate with the grace of a queen. "And don't forget to wear that necklace Harry bought you for the anniversary!" she shouted up the stairs. "If we're going to bankrupt the Savior of the Wizarding World today, we might as well look the part!"
Draco didn't bother answering, but he couldn't help the small smile on his face as he reached his dressing room. It was funny, really. He had spent his entire youth being the perfectly composed Malfoy heir, but here he was, perfectly content to spend every last Galleon Harry Potter had to offer on jewelry. It wasn't just about the money, though. It was about the freedom to be exactly who he wanted to be. He caught his reflection in the mirror, pale, elegant, and glowing with a happiness he had never known in the dark halls of the Manor.
Within ten minutes, he was back downstairs, draped in charcoal silk and smelling of expensive sandalwood. Pansy stood up, her eyes scanning him from head to toe with a satisfied nod.
"Much better." she approved, hooking her arm through his. "Now, let’s go. I heard the new collection at H. Samuel has enough carats to blind a dragon, and I intend to see if the rumors are true."
---
They stopped at a cozy cafe to enjoy some pastries and tea before heading into the heart of the shopping district. Everything was going as smoothly as it should. As they walked, people stared and whispered, and some even stopped to take photos. Draco didn’t worry about it. Being a celebrity was simply part of his life now. He was certain his picture would appear in a tabloid tomorrow, if not the Daily Prophet itself, showing the world another day in the life of the Savior’s perfect wife.
It should have been a normal Sunday. He and Pansy were shopping freely with Harry’s money, immersed in gossip about the high society of the wizarding world. Most of the news came from the Ministry, since Pansy had started working as Harry's secretary not long ago. Draco would never admit it, but he often used these trips to extract news about Harry from her. He told himself it was just to scan for threats to Harry’s career, not because he was possessive or anything of the sort. If Pansy knew the truth, she didn't show it, like a good friend she was. But let’s be honest, mostly, she was just being a total bitch. After all, she only had that high-paying desk job because of him. During her first month she actually had the nerve to say she "couldn't gossip about her boss" even though she knew Draco had sacrificed his body to Harry's every whim for a full week just to convince him to hire her. The turnover rate for that job was higher than energy prices in this economy, yet there she was, acting all professional.
It should have been a normal Sunday. However, the day took a sharp turn the moment they arrived at H. Samuel. As they began reviewing a new collection of fine diamond jewelry, Pansy decided to drop a bomb out of nowhere. It was a classic move, delivered with the calculated timing only a nasty bitch like her could master. Draco really shouldn't have been surprised.
“So, have you heard about Lucy yet?" Pansy asked casually, leaning over a glass case as if she were just looking at rings. Acting so nonchalant, Draco didn't even notice the trap until he was already in it.
"She’s some new clerk from Finance who’s suddenly developed a very strong interest in the Auror department. She shows up every single day, Draco. And her timing? It’s perfect. She always just happens to be passing by right as your husband is leaving for lunch.”
With that, Draco froze. His hand, which had been reaching for a shimmering diamond necklace on the velvet counter, stopped mid-air. Pansy continued to ramble, her voice low and full of fake concern.
“Honestly, she isn't the only one, but she’s definitely the most shameless since I started working there.“ Pansy added, watching Draco’s profile for a reaction. “Harry is far too popular for his own good, if you ask me. I mean, the girls always talk about the hair and the green eyes, but we both know it’s the body they’re really after. For Salazar’s sake, those biceps... you’re a lucky man, Draco.”
She paused, letting the imagery sink in before twisting the knife.
“But anyway, this Lucy girl? She has the thickest skin I’ve ever seen. Your husband will walk out of his office with Weasley to go to the canteen, and she’ll just be standing there, pretending to chat with a friend. Then she’ll turn around, give the Head Auror those massive doe eyes, and practically beg to join them. It’s pathetic, really, but persistent.”
Draco’s grip on the necklace tightened. He barely felt the sharp metal digging into his palm. He only felt a burning, furious red jealousy that drowned out everything else.
“I mean, luckily, your Harry is decent enough to keep her at a distance." Pansy added, reaching out to idly adjust a tray of rings, her voice dropping into a whisper. "But he can only say no so many times before people start whispering that he’s being arrogant. Weasley gets all nervous about his public image and actually lets her tag along sometimes. And of course, the little bitch chooses to sit right next to Harry instead of the man who actually invited her... Hey, Draco? Are you even listening to me?” A sharp, impatient snap of fingers called for attention from Pansy.
The silence that followed was heavy. Draco didn't look up immediately. He continued to admire the diamond necklace in his hand. Turning it over so the shop's enchanted lights caught every facet.
“How long has this been happening?” Draco asked finally.
His voice was so smooth and perfectly level it surprised even himself. Sounding as if he were asking about the gold content of a ring rather than a threat to his marriage. But his mind was already sharpening like a blade, cutting through the image of this "Lucy" and discarding the pieces.
Pansy leaned back, a triumphant smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She knew him too well to be fooled by his bored expression.
“Oh, it’s been the talk of the office for over a month now.” she said, watching him with a wicked glint in her eyes. “I thought you should know, considering how much... effort you put into keeping that office space safe.”
Draco slowly placed the necklace back on the counter. He turned to face Pansy, his expression a mask of pure ice, but she clearly saw the fire in his eyes. Her smile grew wider. Mission accomplished.
“And what does my husband do?" Draco asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, quiet level. "I presume he knows better than to give that fool even a second of his time?”
Pansy tapped her chin, pretending to think. “Mmm, I don’t know, Dray. He doesn't exactly encourage her, but he hasn't exactly shut her down for good, either. Every other girl who tried this got fired and blacklisted within a week, but this one? She’s survived a whole month! I’m not saying she’s special or anything, but she’s certainly getting a lot more leeway than the others. Maybe he’s just too busy to notice, or maybe... he’s finally grown used to having someone pretty fluttering around his desk.”
Draco looked at her. He was far from stupid. He could tell Pansy was being a bit too enthusiastic, clearly provoking him because she was dying for some dramatic entertainment. But he also knew she wouldn't lie about something like this, not when it involved Harry. She knew the consequences of crying wolf were far too steep when Draco’s temper was involved.
A nameless clerk was actually trying to seduce Harry? Now? Right after he had finally leaned into his role as Harry’s wife, as Harry’s belonging, as Harry’s everything? Just as he had begun to truly savor the quiet power of being the perfect spouse? He had worked tirelessly to secure his rightful place beside the Savior, playing the part of the devoted, elegant partner to perfection. Oh, no. He wasn't going to let some delusional cow think for a single second that his absence from the Ministry meant the position beside Harry was vacant. If she wanted to play house with the Head Auror, she was about to find out that Harry Potter didn't belong to the public, he belonged to Draco.
His voice was terrifyingly smooth as he spoke the next line.
“Tell me, Pans. Is our dear Head Auror free this Monday? I would like to pay a visit to my husband’s workplace for some fresh air.” He paused, his fingers tracing the edge of a crystal display case with elegance. “It seems that because I've been such a perfect housewife, not involving myself in my husband's business or walking those halls, some uneducated bitches think they can take what isn't theirs.”
Pansy’s eyes lit up instantly. Her prayers were being answered. There would be no boring Monday for at least a week. This was better than any jewelry they could buy!
“Oh dear, I will clear his entire schedule just for you.” she purred, already mentally drafting the memo that would keep Harry trapped in his office, and Lucy trapped in the splash zone.
Draco looked at his friend with a look of mock suspicion. “Behave, Pans. You seem to be enjoying this a little too much.”
“Me? Never!” she replied, her grin stretching. “I’m simply a dedicated employee looking to improve the office environment. If that improvement involves watching you torched a mid-level clerk to ashes, well, that’s just a professional perk.”
Her smile grew even wider. And with that, it was settled. Draco was going to need Kreacher to take care of James for one more day next week. He had wifey duties to attend to, and he was going to make sure the entire Ministry knew exactly who Harry Potter went home to at night, and precisely why the Potter name was now his to protect.
By the time they left H. Samuel, Draco wasn't just carrying a new bag of jewelry, but also a big bag of grudges. His heels clicking against the pavement with a rhythmic, lethal precision.
“I’ll have his lunch cleared and a visitor’s pass waiting at the front desk.” Pansy said, her voice practically vibrating with anticipation as they reached the Apparition point. She adjusted her silk scarf, looking at Draco with a twinkle of pure mischief.
Draco offered her a sharp, thin smile. One that didn't reach his eyes. “I don't need a suit to remind people who I am, Pansy. But I appreciate the sentiment.”
“Oh, I know you don't.” Pansy said, her voice dropping to a smooth purr as she began to turn on her heel. “But do make sure you wear the Potter family ring. I want her to see the size of the rock she’s never going to touch.”
With a sharp crack, Pansy vanished, leaving Draco alone for a brief moment in the bustling district. He adjusted the cuff of his coat, the cold wind biting at his pale skin, but he felt nothing but the steady, thrumming heat of his own resolve. He had spent years being the boy who made all the wrong choices, but being Harry Potter’s wife was the best choice he had ever made. And he wasn't about to let some ambitious little meddler forget it.
For Pansy, the weekend would be an agonizing wait for the entertainment to begin. But for Draco, the rest of Sunday was merely a rehearsal. Monday couldn't come soon enough.
— Monday —
The next day arrived faster than expected, but the anger in Draco’s chest had not faded. If anything, it had grown into a steady, burning fire. He decided to funnel that jealousy into their morning session, turning his possessive streak into a performance of pure, intoxicating devotion.
From the moment he opened his eyes, Draco began running through the plan he had crafted in the quiet hours of the night. He began by waking his unsuspecting husband with lethal precision. Slipping under the heavy duvet, used his mouth and tongue to stir Harry from sleep, relishing the way Harry’s body reacted before his mind even caught up. A deep, hoarse groan soon filled the room, vibrating through the mattress.
"God... Draco... your mouth..." Harry rasped, his voice thick with sleep and sudden pleasure. He sank back against the pillows, eyes squeezed shut as his hands instinctively sought Draco out, fingers tangling in pale hair to knead his scalp. He was completely at the mercy of the dutiful service his wife was providing.
Draco smiled against Harry’s skin. He had woken up long before their usual time for a very specific reason, he needed to decorate himself for his trip to the Ministry. To look the part of the perfect, slightly disheveled, but thoroughly loved spouse. A glow only Harry could provide.
When the service was finished, Draco didn't pull away. He climbed up Harry’s body predatory grace, his naked skin cool against Harry's radiating warmth. He ground his hips against Harry’s hardening groin, tracing the hard muscles of Harry's chest and arms, the very ones Pansy had mentioned and he so fiercely admired. With the experiences he had gathered over the year, he was now a veteran when it came to reading Harry’s body. To make Harry lose his control, he knew exactly which buttons to push to get the reaction he wanted. He leaned down, dragging his teeth across the junction of Harry's neck and shoulder, knowing that a visible mark there would be his most effective accessory for the afternoon.
Harry’s hand moved to Draco’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone with a warmth that seemed to seep directly into Draco’s skin. He looked up at Draco, those famous green eyes dark and heavy with a desire that was reserved for Draco alone.
"What’s with the intensity today, love?" Harry rasped, his voice a low vibration. "Why am I getting such special treatment so early?”
Draco looked down at him. His expression shifting into a masterclass of practiced, heartbreaking innocence. He blinked slowly, letting his pale lashes flutter against his skin, even coaxing a shimmer of moisture to the corners of his eyes until he looked devastatingly soft and vulnerable. It was a weaponized fragility, and it worked every time.
His lips hovered just an inch away from Harry’s, sharing the same frantic air. Their eyes locked, and Draco whispered in a voice that sounded like it was physically breaking. "Please, Harry... I’m begging you, please fuck me. I need to feel you right now."
Harry’s breath hitched and that was the breaking point. He responded with a surge of eager ferocity, flipping Draco onto his back in one fluid, dominant motion and taking charge. Their moans echoed through the master bedroom for the remainder of the morning. A long, relentless session that left Draco exactly as he had planned to be, breathless, thoroughly marked, and undeniably claimed. As he lay there in the aftermath, his skin flushed and his mind already racing toward the Ministry. He knew he was ready. He looked like a man who had been loved all night, and that was exactly the message he intended to deliver.
Downstairs, Kreacher had to look after the baby for much longer than usual. The old house-elf shuffled around the kitchen, grumbling under his breath and muttering long strings of complaints.
"Kreacher is old." he whispered to the sink. "Kreacher survived the Dark Lord, and he survived the madness of the Black family. But Kreacher did not think he would spend his life having to tolerate the loud, messy Potter boy.”
Just then, a particularly loud thud followed by a sharp moan echoed from the master bedroom upstairs. Kreacher’s large ears twitched with deep annoyance. He looked at little James, who was sitting on the floor happily chewing on a wooden spoon, completely unaware of the noise. Kreacher let out a long, dramatic sigh. He shook his head and began to scrub a spot on the table that was already perfectly clean, muttering about "proper manners" and "the old days.”
However, despite all his grumbling and the obvious annoyance, he would never truly complain to his Master. When he looked at Draco, he saw a Master who was safe, happy, and very well-fed. The house was full of life, even if it was a bit too loud for an old elf's taste. Kreacher was happy to serve a master of the House of Black until his very last breath, even if it meant dealing with the energetic and messy love life of the Potter master. It was, in Kreacher's mind, a necessary trade-off for the restoration of the Black family's light.
---
The morning continued smoothly as they moved from their heated session into their usual routine. Breakfast was finished, the plates were cleared, and Draco hoisted James onto his hip so they could see Harry off.
Harry kissed James on the cheek before attempting to smooth out his shirt, which remained stubbornly wrinkled from Draco’s possessive lingering touches. He moved with a relaxed, golden energy, gathering his Auror robes and briefcase as he drifted toward the fireplace. Before stepping into the hearth, he turned back, a radiant smile lighting up his face. He stepped back into Draco’s space, his lips meeting Draco’s with a lingering softness that was a complete contrast to the frantic, hungry energy of their morning.
“Heading out now. I'll see you this evening, love.” Harry murmured, giving him one last sweet, grounding peck.
“Have a pleasant day at work, Harry.” Draco replied. He kept his voice like honey and his expression devoted, the very picture of the supportive spouse. He shifted James in his arms, and the toddler offered a clumsy, enthusiastic wave.
“Da-da!”
Harry looked as though it took every ounce of his strength not to drop his bags, stay home, and stay with them all day. With one last adoring glance, he stepped into the green flames and disappeared in a flash of light.
The second the green sparks died down. the soft, domestic glow in Draco’s eyes flickered out like a snuffed candle. Replaced by the cool, calculating light of a Malfoy on a mission.
“Kreacher.”
Pop!
The house-elf appeared right beside him, bowing low. “Yes, Master Draco. Kreacher is here.”
“I am leaving James in your care for the rest of the day.” Draco said, his voice clipped and professional. “Make sure he eats exactly what I have prepared. All three meals, no exceptions, and ensure he takes his nap on time. I am heading to the Ministry at noon, and I might be home quite late.”
“Kreacher will do as Master wishes.” the elf croaked, reaching out to take the toddler. He looked at his Master’s determined expression and gave a slow, knowing nod. He had seen this look on the Black men for generations, and it usually meant someone was about to have a very bad day. A swell of dramatic, overwhelming pride rose in the elf’s chest. He felt a fierce satisfaction that the bloodline of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black still cascaded through his young Master Draco. He fought to keep the tears from his bulbous eyes, bowing one last time with a reverence he reserved only for the true heirs of his house. He then turned to tend to his most important duty, raising the young master James to be as much like master Draco as he could manage, while steering him as far away from the messy influence of master Harry as possible.
Without waiting for a reply, Draco turned on his heel and walked upstairs with a purposeful stride. He had work to do. He spent the next few hours in front of his vanity, carefully selecting an outfit that screamed wealth, status, and "Hands Off My Husband." He applied his makeup with steady hands, sharpening his features until he looked absolutely flawless.
He had a grand entrance to make, and he was going to make sure that by the time he left the Ministry, every "clerk" in the building knew exactly who owned the Head Auror.
___
Click-click-clack-clack
The steady rhythm of a typewriter filled the air just outside the Head Auror’s office. It wasn't a common sight to see Pansy Parkinson working so energetically, especially coming from a secretary who was widely known to have secured her job through high-level connections.
But today was different. She knew she could be lazy, but not today… especially today. She had to play the role of the perfect, hardworking secretary to make the rotten behavior of SOME other stand out even more. By appearing as the picture of professionalism, she was setting the stage for the biggest gossip the Ministry had seen in years, and she wanted everything to be perfect, assuming her friend made it here and played his part well, of course. To be truly efficient in this theatrical field was exhausting, but Pansy told herself the world simply needed it. It was a public service after all.
The hallway was now crowded with hungry Aurors that so restless they couldn't seem to stay at their desks. They were all lingering around, checking their watches and waiting for their superior to step out of his office and finally free them for lunch. The air was thick with the smell of old parchment and the impatient energy of men and women ready for a break. They had no idea they were about to witness a show far more satisfying than anything the cafeteria was serving.
Click. clack.
Pansy’s fingers hovered over the keys. No, that wasn’t her typewriter. It was the sharp, rhythmic sound of navy high heels. The target was approaching, walking right into the line of fire in front of Pansy’s desk. Pansy felt a thrill of pure delight. She had never loved her job more than she did at this very moment.
“Good afternoon, Lucy.” Pansy said, her voice dripping with a sugar-coated, artificial sweetness.
“Hi, Pansy! Good to see you!” Lucy beamed, her smile reaching her eyes, radiating a warmth that Pansy clearly didn't share. As Pansy looked her up and down, taking in the state of her today.
Lucy Brightmoor, the clerk from Finance, was a vision of calculated innocence. She had long, wavy brown hair that cascaded down to her waist, and her makeup was a masterpiece of deception. It was designed to look like she wasn't wearing any at all. The classic "I just woke up this beautiful" trap that almost every man in the Ministry had fallen for. To Pansy, it was transparent and pathetic.
Lucy’s outfit was just as calculated. She wore a cream-white blouse with lace and a delicate bow, looking every bit the innocent girl-next-door. The only thing that betrayed her was her baby blue skirt. It was so short that it was practically a scandal in itself, especially for a simple clerk.
Pansy tries to hide her scoff, forced herself to maintain the mask of a lovely coworker, using the sweet tone she only used for people she truly despised.
“I see you here so often lately.” Pansy remarked, tilting her head. “I honestly thought you’d already been transferred to the Auror department officially. After all, it would be such a shame for all this lovely dedication to go unrewarded.”
“Oh, I hope that’s true soon!” Lucy giggled, leaning slightly against the desk. “I actually submitted my transfer request two weeks ago. I just feel like I belong here, you know?”
Pansy felt a surge of disdain so strong it was a miracle she didn't choke on it. This bitch, she thought. She has the thickest skin for fifty miles.
Suddenly, the heavy office door swung open, hitting the wall with a dull thud that signaled the end of the morning shift. Harry walked out, looking every bit the exhausted Head Auror, with Ron following close behind, already complaining about his stomach rumbling.
Lucy’s face lit up as if someone had cast a Lumos behind her eyes. She gave her short skirt a quick, practiced tug and moved toward him, her practiced smile ready. But Harry didn't even look her way. His eyes were fixed on the paperwork in Pansy's hand as he walked straight to the secretary's desk. Lucy was left stranded in the middle of the hall with her greeting dying on her lips. Behind Harry, Ron paused for a fraction of a second. He caught Lucy’s eye and offered a polite, sympathetic, yet deeply uncomfortable look.
“Pans, do I have any appointments this afternoon?” Harry asked, his voice rough and tired from a morning of shouting orders.
Pansy hid her satisfaction behind a professional mask, her fingers pausing over the typewriter. “No, sir. You’re free for the rest of the day. Your next meeting isn't until ten tomorrow morning.”
“Perfect. I’ll just—”
“Mr. Potter!” Lucy interrupted, quickly recovering. she stepped back into his line of sight. “Since you’re free this evening, may I invite you to that new cafe nearby? I heard the atmosphere is lovely and the coffee is excellent. I know you like yours black, so I thought it would be a nice break for you after such a long week...”
The hallway usually bustling with hungry Aurors went unnervingly silent. The air grew thick with secondhand embarrassment. It was a scene that had played out so many times over the past few months that everyone had developed a sort of collective grimace. But the frequency of it didn’t make it any easier to witness.
“I’m sorry, Ms….” Harry turned to look at her, his voice flat and completely indifferent
“Lucy! It’s Lucy Brightmoor.” she chirped, leaning in as if expecting him to finally recognize her.
“Ms. Brightmoor.” Harry’s gaze was like ice, devoid of even a flicker of recognition. “I don’t do personal gatherings with subordinates. If you have anything important to discuss, please consult my secretary and book an appointment. Now, if you will excuse me.”
Lucy’s face faltered as whispers broke out among the other workers in the hall. But she was persistent. She wouldn’t have made it this far if she cared about public opinion or the cold stares of her peers, a fact Pansy noted with an internal sneer.
However, she didn’t falter. Instead, she quickly chimed in to keep the conversation alive. “I just wanted to thank you… for everything you do. You do so much for all of us.” she said, her voice dropping into a soft, pleading tone that was clearly meant to be seductive. “I’ve admired your sacrifice for so long, Mr. Potter. And I’m sure your wife would understand if he had a little fun in his private life. After all, he stays home all day just doing chores and minding the child.”
The hallway now went deathly quiet. The air in the hallway grew suddenly suffocating as Harry’s expression darkened. Even Ron, usually the first to break a silence, looked nervous, shifting his weight and realizing she had just crossed a dangerous line.
Everyone with a shred of common sense, which meant everyone in the room except Lucy, knew that this was the point where she should back out and run. Many people had been sacked or blacklisted for being far less inappropriate with Harry than this, but Lucy seemed determined to be the next. She stood her ground, looking up at him with those wide, pleaful eyes, completely unaware that she was standing on the edge of a landslide.
Harry stepped closer, his brow furrowed in a deep frown. “I will say this one last time, Ms. Brightmoor—”
“Am I interrupted something?”
The new voice cut through the tension like a silver blade. It was sweet and clear, sounding like a wind chime in a lovely spring breeze. The sudden sound made everyone turn toward the hallway entrance, and the change in Harry was instantaneous.
He abruptly turned his head, and the terrifying frown vanished, replaced by the widest, most joyful smile anyone had ever seen on the Head Auror. Ron looked caught between being worried that his already short mealtime was being eaten away by drama and excited to have such a juicy story to tell Hermione later. Meanwhile, Pansy just leaned back in her chair and smiled proudly. She didn't even bother to hide her satisfaction. The King had arrived to claim his territory, and she had a front-row seat to the execution.
“Draco! My dear, why are you here?!”
Harry’s voice was full of a breathless excitement that completely abandoned his professional manner. He looked like he wanted to run across the room, but his shock held him in place for a few seconds as he just stared at his wife.
Draco stood at the entrance of the hallway, posing with a grace that was both elegant and dangerous. He knew exactly what he was doing. He had chosen tight leather pants that hugged his hips enticingly, and his shirt was a loose, white fabric that threatened to slide off his shoulder at any moment. He made sure to tilt his head just enough so the light caught the dark bite marks on his pale neck, the marks he had made sure Harry left there that morning.
His soft silver hair was styled to perfection, and his high-heeled black leather boots made him look tall, slender, and untouchable. He looked every bit the high-society spouse, and every bit the man who owned Harry Potter’s heart.
Draco took in the reaction of the room with a calm, sidelong gaze. He saw Harry’s spellbound expression and Pansy’s nod of approval. He saw Ron’s awkward blush and the way the other Aurors were staring in awe. But most of all, he saw the pale, shocked face of the "clerk" who had dared to think she could compete with him. Saw the way her eyes filled with a mix of anger and realization.
She wasn't even in his league.
“Draco... you look... gorgeous.” Harry breathed, the words barely more than a dazed exhale. He closed the distance between them in two long strides, catching Draco’s waist in a possessive grip that pulled him flush against his chest. His other hand rose to cup Draco’s jaw, his thumb tracing the pale line of his throat right beside one of those marks. Ignoring the dozens of eyes pinned on them, Harry leaned in for a kiss that was deep, lingering, and utterly public.
A loud, pointedly fake cough erupted from Ron. An attempt to remind them they were standing in a public hallway and not their private bedroom. Harry broke away reluctantly, looking genuinely pained to leave Draco’s lips for even a second.
“Harry... you’re making a scene.” Draco murmured, though he made no move to pull away, leaning back into Harry’s touch and tilting his head just enough to ensure the marks on his neck were perfectly visible to the entire room… and to one girl in particular.
“How do you expect me to react normally when you look so breathtaking?” Harry countered, his voice thick with a lack of restraint.
“You’re too flattering, Harry.” Draco purred, his voice smooth and carrying easily through the silent, stunned hall. “It’s just a simple outfit, really.”
“You know that’s not true.” Harry whispered, his green eyes locked onto Draco with intense heat. “I don't lie to you. Especially not about how much I love you.”
Draco felt his cool and collected act slip for a moment. A deep flush crept up his neck, staining his cheekbones and reaching the tips of his ears. He hadn't expected Harry to be this vocal in front of his staff. A few subordinates in the back actually whistled, and the heavy tension in the room finally broke into a murmur of surprised laughter.
Everyone had heard rumors about how smitten the Head Auror was, but they had never witnessed it firsthand like this. Draco Malfoy-Potter was usually a mystery, a faithful, stay-at-home wife who kept to his close circle. Today was the first day he had ever appeared within the Ministry halls since the wedding and the way he carried himself, the way he looked, the way he completely commanded Harry’s attention was a sight certainly worth the front page of the Daily Prophet.
Draco finally turned his head slightly, his eyes landing on Lucy Brightmoor once again. She looked caught between wanting the floor to swallow her whole and wanting to strangle Draco to death. In the presence of a Malfoy, her innocent lace blouse now looked cheap, and her short skirt seemed desperate compared to Draco’s high-fashion elegance. Draco didn’t say a single word to her. He didn't need to waste his breath on someone so far beneath him. Instead, he simply leaned back into Harry’s touch. His fingers trailing possessively over the fold of Harry's Auror robes. He had already forgotten her name, and by the look on Harry’s face, he had never even bothered to learn it.
“I’m starving.” Draco whispered, leaning closer to Harry’s ear so the room could catch the intimacy of the moment. “Will you take me to lunch soon, or will I simply collapse from hunger?”
“We can’t have that, can we?” Harry replied softly, his voice dropping all professional pretense. “Let’s go, love.”
Harry’s hand found the curve of Draco’s waist, pulling him so close their hips brushed. He clearly had no intention of letting go anytime soon. He kept his arm firmly around Draco as they began to walk together, side by side, toward the elevators that led to the Ministry canteen.
They looked like the perfect picture of an ever-loving husband and his beautiful, devoted wife. Behind them, Ron and Pansy stood watching the departure, one amused and the other victorious. Lucy was left standing in the center of the hall, her face a messy mix of pale shock and bright red embarrassment. The surrounding Aurors were so stunned by the display that they seemed to have forgotten they were about to collapse from hunger just minutes ago.
Everyone watched the happy couple leave, admiring the warmth Harry showed his wife. However, no one noticed the small, dark smirk that crept up Harry’s face. It blended in so perfectly with his happy expression that it remained his own little secret. He knew exactly what Draco had been doing, and he loved every second of it.
______________________
Harry’s Office, 2 Months Ago
"She’s here again?" Ron asked, peering out the window of Harry’s office. He was lounging in the chair opposite the Head Auror’s desk, hands tucked leisurely behind his head as he swung the chair back and forth.
Harry sat across from him, focused on a mountain of paperwork and reports from the Aurors under his supervision, including Ron. "Who?”
"That Finance girl. Lucy.” Ron said, nodding toward the hallway. "She keeps coming here right before lunch. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was waiting for you. Actually, I have better judgment than that, she’s definitely trying to shack up with you, mate.”
"Don’t know. Maybe.” Harry said unhurriedly. He didn't look up, his focus remaining entirely on the papers. "I don’t have time to care.”
Ron turned his head to look at Harry. His posture was still relaxed, but his eyes were sharp with curiosity. "No, seriously, Harry. Why don’t you transfer her? You’ve fired people for much less than this. It’s becoming too obvious. Even with my nice nature, I wouldn't want Hermione getting the wrong idea if something like this kept happening to me.”
Finally, Harry looked up. He glanced at Ron, then shifted his gaze toward the hallway. He saw the girl, docile, pretty, wearing a skirt that was far too short and an ambition that was far too large. He truly didn't have the mental space for her, but Ron is making a point here and he realized his friend wasn't going to drop the subject sooner or later. He was clearly bored to death and looking for any stimulation to pass the day. Lucky him, he is not the one who landed the Head Auror position just months ago. It was far too early if he were asked, but an achievement is an achievement. He is not going to let this one go just to wait a few more years and have it snatched by someone below him.
Harry sighed, dropped his pen, and leaned back. "You know, I don't like people approaching me with these kinds of intentions." he began, his voice flat. "Looking for power? I can understand that. I can play that game and use it to my advantage. But having an affair? That’s just pure stupidity, a total waste of time.”
Ron nodded, pulling an approving face. "Exactly. So why let her stay?"
"Because I've fired too many people lately.” Harry explained. "Human Resources can only work so fast to fill the holes I leave in the staff. They went to Kingsley and complained, so now there's pressure on me not to fire people so easily. Plus, I’ve been making Kingsley’s life hard enough as it is. I don't want to get on his nerves. For short, she has a short period of immunity... that's all.”
Ron nodded with understanding, though he looked a little disappointed, clearly been expecting something saucier. As Harry moved to resume his work, Ron spoke up again.
"But... Parkinson is your secretary, right?"
Harry paused, his pen hovering over the paper. "...Yes. And?"
"Won't it be a problem if she gets the wrong idea? What if she decides to tell Draco you’re cheating on him?"
Harry put his pen down completely and slumped into his chair. He accepted that his early afternoon was gone. He would have to entertain his friend, or he wouldn't know peace for the rest of the day.
He let out a dry, hollow laugh. His fingers tapping rhythmically against the mahogany desk as he considered the sheer absurdity of the thought.
"Then it would be exciting to see if Draco gets jealous at all." Harry mused.
Ron made a face, looking like he had just swallowed something sour. "I think he loves you just fine, mate. Even if I don't visit Grimmauld Place that often, every time I'm there, he looks happy. He’s settled in, playing the housewife like it’s his life’s purpose."
"I know.” Harry said, his voice dropping an octave. "I made sure of that. I wanted him safe, settled, and far away from anyone who could ever look at him the wrong way again.”
There was a heavy silence for a moment, the kind that made Ron wonder if he should be worried about just how much control Harry liked to exert over his domestic bliss.
"So...?" Ron prompted, trying to steer the ship back to calmer waters.
Harry’s mind wandered, his gaze floating to the space behind Ron’s head. He became temporarily lost in his own imagination. "I’ve never seen him truly jealous before.” He paused, a slow contemplative smile tugging at the corner of his lips as if he were mentally cataloging every one of Draco’s expressions. “I caught a glimpse of it once or twice when he saw a headline of me standing near some woman on the street. Because the Daily Prophet can't tell the difference between a shoulder-bump and a scandal."
"Garbage media.” Ron muttered, shaking his head.
"I'm curious.” Harry continued, his eyes darkening with interest. "I want to know what his trigger is. I want to see how cute he looks when he flushes red with anger. Will he slap me? Will he let me fuck him to—"
"Okay! Stop right there!" Ron shouted, waving his hands frantically as if to physically block the mental image. "Keep that to yourself, mate! I'm your best friend, not your therapist or your bloody priest!”
Harry chuckled softly. "You asked for it, mate."
"No! I didn't ask for your perverted thoughts! Ugh, screw you!" Ron groaned, looking like he wanted to scrub his brain.
Harry’s laughter subsided into a low hum.
"I don't think he'll act out much from his jealousy though." Ron continued, his voice returning to a normal volume, though still looked slightly scarred. "He seems like the type to repress everything, hiding how he feels until it's just too much. And then, boom. Divorce."
Harry’s eyes turned cold at the mention of the taboo word. Ron felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as the atmosphere in the room shifted. Although Harry didn't move a muscle, yet he looked ready to hex anyone who even dared to breathe the word "divorce" in his presence again.
"Wanna bet?" Harry asked, his voice quiet.
Ron gulped, but his Gryffindor pride flared. He wouldn't back down now. "Bet what?”
“That Draco doesn't repress anything.” Harry said, his gaze locking onto Ron. "When he finds out about this, he isn't going to quietly pack a bag. He’s going to walk into this Ministry and remind everyone exactly who I belong to. It won't be subtle, and it certainly won't be polite.” Harry leaned forward, the light from the window catching the sharp, knowing glint in his eyes. “You know what he’s like. Do you really think he is going to change just because of the war and a few years of playing domestic? Underneath the silk robes, he’s still a Malfoy after all.”
Ron considered it for a moment. He pictured Draco Malfoy-Potter, the man who spent his days picking out curtains and making sure Harry’s tea was just right. He couldn't imagine that version of Draco causing a public stir. Not after everything he had been through, surely the war and the trial had tamed Draco's natural arrogant nature to a certain degree, right? He was sure his own assumption was better and well worth the risk.
“And what do I get if I win?"
"Anything. You decide."
Ron thought hard, his mind racing through possibilities before he finally came to a conclusion. "I want a free weekend. No on-call duties, no emergency owls, and absolutely no paperwork. Just a full, quiet weekend for me and Hermione.”
"And if you lose?" Harry challenged, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
"Then I'll stand in for your job for a full week!" Ron declared. "I'll handle all the boring meetings, the politics, and the mountain of paperwork while you do whatever you want.”
Harry reached across the desk, his hand out and waiting. "Deal."
Ron gripped it firmly, sealing the pact. "Deal."
---
Back at the Auror Department
"You’re smiling too wide, Parkinson. Any more and I’ll think it was you behind all of this.” Ron said.
He watched Lucy disappear behind the entrance column as she followed the couple toward the canteen, trailing after them like a ghost. His voice was quiet, kept low to ensure their conversation stayed private as the other Aurors finally began their journey toward the canteen, whispering excitedly among themselves.
Pansy just laughed with pure satisfaction, the sound sharp and bright. "You’re thinking too highly of me, Weasley. I’m just a mere secretary. How could I possibly plan all of this? I just….lit a starting spark, that’s all."
"So, it was you then." Ron sighed, shaking his head. "I should have known your fingerprints would be all over this mess.”
Pansy accepted the accusation with a smile. She stood and smoothed out her skirts, slinging her purse over her shoulder. She began drifting toward the canteen like everyone else, mostly to ensure she had a front-row seat for the show. Watching her go, Ron wasted no time scribbling a frantic note. He whistled for a Ministry owl, desperate to get Hermione there before the fireworks started. He could already picture her angry face, that specific terrifying fury she reserved for when he left her out of the loop.
At the corner of his eye, he saw Pansy stop just as she was about to pass through the entrance. A small Ministry owl dropped her a tiny, folded note used for passing quick messages between departments. She read the note for a few seconds, a slow, delighted smirk spreading across her face. She turned back to Ron, her eyes dancing with malice.
"Oh, and before I go to lunch.” She paused for the dramatic effect. “For the second week of July, which is only a fortnight away. The Head Auror’s schedule is completely a disaster. The Minister has requested a daily briefing on the smuggling cases at the southern border, there’s a mandatory safety workshop, and a cross-department meeting to organize that ridiculous bonding competition for September."
Ron froze, his quill hovering over his half-written note. He looked up, staring dumbfoundedly at her. "Okay... and why are the logistics of Harry’s life suddenly my business?"
Pansy looked at him with an indifferent, almost bored expression, though her eyes glinted with mischief. "I don’t know what you agreed upon with Harry. But I just received an owl from him. He told me to pack his busiest week of the year with every soul-sucking meeting I could find, and then he told me to hand the list to you."
She offered a small, wicked smile. "So, good luck, Weasley. That week is a total hell-week. Try not to cry in front of the Minister."
With that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the hall. Ron felt nothing but a heavy sense of dread sinking into his chest. The memory of the bet hit him like a Bludger to the stomach. He suddenly realized he had lost… and he had lost big. Looking down at his parchment, he suddenly didn't feel any appetite at all. Lord have mercy. Hermione was going to kill him for making a stupid decision again, and he was solely the one to blame!
He looked at the empty hallway, then at the mountain of folders on Harry’s desk that would soon be his problem. The "hell-week" of July loomed over him like a Dementor. The festive atmosphere of the Ministry lunch hour now sounding like a funeral march.
Harry was out there enjoying a victory lap, while Ron was left to explain to his fiancé why he wouldn't be seeing her for a week because he'd gambled his sanity on the Malfoy temperament.
"Stupid, Ron.” he muttered to the empty room, dropping his head with utterly defeated. "Absolutely mental."
______________________
Back at the Ministry’s canteen
In the middle of the canteen, settling a table that radiated a beacon of intense interest to everyone present in the room. Beside Ron sat Hermione, who had rushed over from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after received an excited owl from her fiancé about "potential spicy drama that will make the Ministry filled with owl poop and paper garbage from tomorrow's gossip." Despite her usual discipline, she had finally succumbed, letting go of her mountain of paperwork to join the event.
Although she had missed the opening act, Hermione seemed to understand the situation perfectly. They sat opposite the lovers, while Pansy occupied the seat next to Harry with sparkling eyes and a devious smile. Pansy’s gaze kept flickering to Lucy, who was sitting beside Hermione, directly opposite Pansy, yet having a clear, unobstructed view of the couple. Despite being positioned in his line of sight, Lucy was receiving absolutely no attention from the man of her mission. Harry’s focus was entirely on Draco, leaving her as nothing more than a ghost at the table.
To anyone wondering why "this bitch" was at the table. The timeline was clear, the couple had arrived first. Their food already spread before them in an arrangement that left absolutely no room for an intruder to squeeze in. Pansy had entered the canteen just in time to witness Lucy’s opening move. The girl had picked up a dessert and had the audacity to land it on the table right in front of the lovers. As Lucy began to slide into the seat on Harry’s other side, the only side Draco wasn't already occupying, Pansy abandoned all pretense of elegance. She sprinted with a frantic hurry and the urgency to intercept.
With a loud THUD and a high-pitched “Oops!”, Pansy claimed the seat beside her best friend’s husband. Embarrassment was beneath her. As a "good friend" and a "civil member of society." Pansy felt it her duty to invite poor, stupid Lucy to join their table in her rightful place, opposite the couple, where she could witness the suffocating lack of space in their marriage from a safe distance.
She sat firmly in the chair she had snatched from under Lucy’s nose, her shoulder practically brushing Harry’s. For a split second, Lucy’s mask slipped, revealing a flash of fury before she quickly adjusted back to the sweet, docile role she was playing. With nowhere else to go, she was forced to sit at the opposite side, looking isolated and alone.
When Hermione and Ron arrived just a few seconds later, they both made a weird face at the bizarrely imbalanced seating arrangement. Seeing Harry’s friends approaching, Lucy realized she couldn’t be an obvious jerk and was forced to slide herself to the left to make room. This shift finally pushed her out of Harry’s direct line of sight. She was now facing Pansy’s smug, glistering eyes instead of the man she was trying to charm, while Harry’s closest friends took their places directly facing the couple.
"You must try the tart, Harry." Draco murmured, his voice smooth as silk as he ignored the fuming clerk sitting across from them, as he reached out and took a piece of the dessert, the very one Lucy had brought to the table and landed in front of them moments ago. That’s sassy of you, Draco! Pansy approved silently, her eyes dancing with glee.
With practiced elegance, Draco held up a small forkful of the stolen tart.
Harry didn't even look at the table. His eyes were locked on Draco’s face as he leaned in to take the bite. "Anything you give me is perfect.” he replied, his voice low and private, making everyone else at the table even Pansy feel like they were trespassing on something scandalous.
“Emm… how is your day, Harry?”
It was Hermione who finally broke, unable to resist the awkwardness. She aimed her question at the man making everyone uncomfortable with how physically touchy he was, practically draped over Draco’s waist, insistently asking to be fed like some lovesick imbecile.
“Oh, sorry Mione, didn’t see you there.” Harry said, blinking as if he’d truly forgotten other people existed.
Hermione felt her eyebrow twitch. Possessive Harry is Shameless Harry, she should have known better. Harry turned to her with a face full of smiles, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
“My day was bad. Very bad. Right up until my love came to see me at the office. Now it’s the best day ever.”
Hermione made a face of visible nausea and slowly turned her green face to speak with the rest of the table, desperate for a change in subject. “Umm… how about you, Pansy?”
“Oh! You won’t believe what a lovely day this is.” Pansy chirped, casting a delighted look at Lucy. “Don’t you agree, Lucy?”
All eyes turned to the clerk who looked incredibly reluctant to answer. She shifted in her seat, feeling the weight of the silence.
“Ah, yes, Pansy. It’s a lovely day.” Lucy managed. Sensing a tiny gap to shove her agenda into, she continued her talk rapidly, not giving a single moment for anyone to interrupt. “Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself to you. I’m Lucy, the officer from Finance. I've been working quite closely with Harry on the new Auror budget. He’s just so vital to the Ministry's stability, isn't he? It must be so difficult for you to keep up with his world, being away from the action for so long.”
Draco paused a little, his gaze cool and uncaring as it swept over her. He clearly didn’t mistake the sharp emphasis on MALFOY. He could see everyone at the table making a face, reacting to the social landmine. Ron looked pained, and Hermione’s lips thinned into a sharp line of disapproval.
Except for Harry, of course.
Harry remained blissfully oblivious to the subtext, his eyes still anchored to Draco’s face. But for the rest of them, the intent was clear. This girl wanted to point at his flaws, his roots as a Malfoy associated with the Dark Lord, and she flat-out refused to recognize him as Mr. Malfoy-Potter.
Draco didn't skip a beat. He leaned back slightly, his expression softening into something dangerously sweet.
“Good afternoon, Miss Lucy. I haven’t heard anyone call me by my father’s surname in quite some time. Usually, people call me Mr. Potter, but you can call me Draco.” he replied, his voice smooth and untroubled.
“Although, I suppose I do miss my parents. I don't get out of the house often, you see. Harry is quite intent on keeping me all to himself... aren't you, darling?”
He tilted his head toward his husband, a playful challenge dancing in his silver eyes.
“Guilty.”
The smirk that broke across Harry’s face shouldn’t have been that lethal. It was dark, possessive, and entirely satisfied. Draco felt himself momentarily stunned and had to willed himself to keep his blush down. He was not a virgin maiden to be shy just because his husband was looking and smiling at him as if he wanted to devour him right there in the canteen. But under the table, where no one could see, Harry’s hand tightened its grip on his waist, confirming every word Draco had just said.
Draco 1 - 0 Lucy
The other two-thirds of the Golden Trio sat with their mouths slightly hanging open in a state of unprepared shock. It didn't matter how many times they had seen Harry turn into this possessive creature over the years. It never got easier to digest.
Pansy, on the other hand, noticed a few Ministry clerks near the dessert station fumbling with their Omnioculars and others clearly readying a quill. Recognizing a historical moment when she saw one, Pansy subtly adjusted her sitting pose, tilting her chin and straightening her spine. If this hits the front page of the Prophet tomorrow, she thought, I must look effortlessly thin.
Lucy’s brain was visibly short-circuiting. Her face went through three different shades of red before she landed on a desperate counter-attack.
“I heard your son, James, is still just a baby.” Lucy said, her voice trembling with forced sweetness. “Is it really wise to leave him to come here? I think it isn't safe for a child to be apart from its parents so often. Especially given the... delicate nature of your family history. It must be so difficult to find a nanny who truly trusts a Malfoy with their child's future.”
Draco 1 - 1(?) Lucy
Repeated tactic. Amateur.
“Thank you for your concern.” Draco replied, his voice regaining its cool edge. “We have a very trustworthy house-elf who has served the House of Black for decades looking after him. Although, I do see your point.”
He turned his gaze back to his husband, his expression softening into a mask of heartbreakingly tender. “Poor James… didn’t you see the look on our baby’s face this morning, Harry? As you kissed his chubby cheek goodbye? He missed you dearly. He’s been calling for you all day.”
The table went silent. Pansy had to physically bite her lip to keep from cackling. Draco was laying it on thick, painting a picture of a distraught, pining infant to make Harry’s absence at work feel like a tragedy.
“He has?” Harry asked, his voice cracking slightly with genuine, panicked concern. He was a powerful Auror, a savior of the wizarding world, and apparently, a complete pushover for his son. “I… I didn’t realize he was that upset.”
“Oh, he was.” Draco sighed, leaning closer to Harry. “It was just 'Dada, Dada' all morning, quite devastating, really.”
“I’m so sorry, love. I had no idea.” Harry said, his voice thick with guilt as he reached out to squeeze Draco’s hand. “I’ve been staying too late at the office. From now on, I’m coming straight home the second my shift ends. No more lingering, no more extra reports. I’ll go straight from the Ministry to our front door every single day.”
Draco looked back at Lucy, who watched him with wide eyes, her expression a mask of stunned disbelief. It was another successful sabotage, a victory glint dancing in his silver eyes.
Draco 2 - 0 Lucy
“You aren’t angry with me, are you?” Harry asked, searching Draco’s face with the kind of desperate vulnerability usually reserved for life-or-death situations.
“Oh, I don’t think I could ever stay angry with you for being so dedicated to your work.” Draco said, his voice dropping into a purr that was purely for Lucy’s benefit.
Harry, still looking only at Draco, answered with something no one expected.
“I miss the baby dearly, Draco, and I honestly can't wait to get out of this office and go home just to be with him.” Harry said in a low voice. “But if I’m being honest? Mostly, I just miss how you kissed me goodbye on the lips this morning. That is the hardest part for me. It makes it so difficult to even walk through the Ministry doors every day.”
As if he wanted to prove his point to the entire room, Harry leaned in and gave Draco a firm kiss on the lips. He sat back and looked at Draco’s bright red face with a proud, doting smile, completely unbothered by their audience. Hermione let out a long, suffering groan and buried her head in her hands, unable to witness any more of their shamelessness.
Draco 3 - (-1) Lucy
Lucy was drowning. Her professional act was falling apart, crushed by the weight of a family life she simply couldn't penetrate. She reached for the only weapon she had left: the past. “H-how about your parents, Mr. Malfo—Mr. Potte—Draco? I heard their health has improved so much since the trial and the sentence in Azkaban.” She feigned a look of sudden fake regret, covering her mouth with a hand. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that...”
The table went ice cold. But Draco, still blushing from Harry’s public display of affection, merely stayed calm and looked at Lucy with perfect grace. He didn't flinch at the mention of the war or the prison, if only he hadn’t faced this kind of repeated insult for far too long before Harry had stepped in to shield him. Its effect was equivalent to blunt needles.
“You are so thoughtful, Ms. Lucy.” Draco said smoothly. “They are much better under Harry’s great care. He always finds the best potions and even funded the renovation of several wings of the Manor to make it more refreshing for them. Right, dear? You’ve been so incredibly generous to my family, despite our... complicated history."
Draco reached over to pat Harry’s hand, expecting a simple nod of agreement to seal the victory. But Harry didn't just nod. He caught Draco’s hand, lacing their fingers together with a grip that was almost bruising. Harry’s gaze hadn't left Draco for a second, and the dark, hungry look in his green eyes had only deepened as Lucy spoke. It was as if every insult she threw only made Harry want to stake a deeper, more permanent claim.
“H-Harry— what are you—”
Draco is stuttering as Harry’s patient wear thin and he move closer, practically chest to Draco’s shoulder, nip him lightly on the earlobe.
“You should know better than to dress like this to the public. It only fair my control is slipping away.” The whispered is husky and not as quite as it should, luckily, it stills stays on the table. Although the image is wide open for everyone to witness. And, Oh.. how the canteen disrupts to silence with that.
“W-why are you blaming me!” Draco hissed, his face burning.
“Because you came to visit me looking exactly like a dream. A very wet dream.”
“HARRY!!” Draco shrieked, his voice jumping an octave in pure shock.
Ron choked so hard on his drink that the sound echoed across the room. Making people from other tables turned around with worried looks.
“Ronald! Control yourself!” Hermione scolded. She quickly used her handkerchief to wipe his mouth and handed him some water. “You are an adult! Stop making a scene!”
“Y-you didn’t hear what he just said?!” Ron gasped, pointing at Harry.
“Of course I heard it!” Hermione snapped. “It is just Harry being Harry. Why are you making such a fuss?”
Draco was shaking with embarrassment. He looked around the room, terrified to see how many people was staring at them with wide eyes. Draco’s face was so hot. He swatted at Harry’s chest, trying to push him back just an inch to regain some dignity.
“Stop it! You are at work!” Draco hissed, his eyes darting toward the Ministry officials who were still watching. “You are the Head Auror! People are going to talk!”
“Let them talk.” Harry replied, not moving an inch. He seemed completely unbothered by the silence or the stares. “I’m a married man. I’m allowed to think my wife is beautiful.”
Draco felt like he was starting to panic. He saw Pansy sipping her water with a huge, smug smile on her face. She was clearly teasing him in her mind, probably already planning how she would bring this up at every dinner party for the next ten years.
Draco ∞ - (-∞) Lucy
The scoreboard in Pansy’s head was spinning wildly. She turned to look at Lucy to see how this war had wounded her, only to be taken aback as she see the girl standing up abruptly. Tears were threatening to stream down her face. Lucy spoke with a volume that everyone in the canteen could hear.
“Mr. Potter, I have admired you for so long.” Lucy cried out, her voice trembling with a misplaced hope. “I’ve admired everything… how you defeated the Dark Lord, how you saved our world, and how hard you’ve worked to become Head Auror. My only dream was to be near you.”
The first tears finally tracked down her cheeks as she took a shaky breath. “Please, I’m not asking for much. I’ll do anything! I’ll accept being anyone you want, even if I have to stay in the shadows, or just someone you turn to when you’re bored. Please, sir, let me be at your side!”
The canteen fell into a suffocating silence. The sound of a fork hitting a plate sounded like a maddening blast.
Oh, here is the last card. How pathetic, Pansy thought. She decided to destroy her mental scoreboard. This girl was too delusional to even track anymore. Declaring she would accept being his mistress right in front of the man who hadn't shown her a shred of interest, and worse, right in front of his wife. Even a cornered dog wouldn't resort to such a cheap, desperate move.
While the table, and half the canteen, remained frozen by the girl’s sudden outburst. Harry’s demeanor changed instantly. He suddenly gained his composure as he turned to look at the girl. His face went blank and professional. All the lovesick energy disappeared, replaced by the cold authority of the Head Auror.
“Ms. Brightmoor, tell me.” Harry said, his voice calm but sharp, echoing through the entire dining hall. "What exactly did you take me for?”
Lucy have been taken aback by sudden seriousness in Harry’s feature. She choked on her breath, her face turning a pale, dusty pink as she scrambled for an answer.
“I... I just admire you! I thought you stood for justice and… and righteousness!” she replied abruptly, her voice trembling.
“Is that it?” Harry asked, his emerald eyes didn't soften. Instead, they seemed to cut right through her, leaving her feeling small and exposed in the middle of the crowded room
“You really think I am so obsessed with justice and heroism that I’d value you acting this vilely just to offer yourself to me? A character worth my consideration, indeed.” Harry said, his voice dripping with a sarcasm so dry.
Nearby, Pansy let out a sharp, amused low breath, realizing the "Savior" had left the building, and the Head Auror had taken his place.
Lucy winced as if he had slapped her. The hero she had idolized was dismantling her piece by piece, and the sheer coldness in his gaze made her knees tremble.
“But I was only trying to show you that I’m the better choice!” Lucy cried.
“Ms. Brightmoor.” Harry interrupted harshly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am an Auror. An Auror must possess a keen sense of observation." Harry continued, his voice steady and cold. "They must be able to discern a person's true character behind a forced smile and must notice when someone is crossing a line, precisely as you have been doing for weeks. You have spent your lunch hours stalking me, ignoring my clear lack of interest, and now you have the audacity to insult my wife and behave like a predatory home-wrecker at my own table.”
“B-but Harry! I would have given you the perfect, untainted life you deserve!” Lucy sobbed, her voice cracking as she reached her breaking point. “I am so devoted to you. I know all your favorite things, what you like and what you don't like. I am a woman of respectable standing, not like some former Death Eater like him! Why? Why can’t you see me?! Why can’t you choose me?!”
Harry didn't move. He didn't even blink as she cried. "When I look at you, Ms. Brightmoor, I see a liability, a clerk so consumed by a stranger's life that she has forgotten how to be useful in her own. As for your devotion, I find it disturbing, not admirable. Stalking a married man is a sickness, and I have no patience for anyone who drags their delusions into my workplace.”
“What…” Lucy whispered, her face going white.
“Let me be clear, you have no place in my department or anywhere near me.” Harry said, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. “You are very lucky I am not allowed to fire people directly for a while, since there are so many worthless people like you who waste Ministry resources running around doing nothing all day. From today, I am transferring you to local duty at a rural border station in Northern Europe. We lack staff there.”
He leaned forward slightly, the green in his eyes glowing with a cold light.
"I hope you will take this opportunity to reflect on yourself. Let this be an example for anyone else who dares to question my wife, who is my life, ever again. Now, begone.”
---
The cry that emerged from the girl was so loud that no one in the dining hall could look away. It was the sound of a dream being crushed into dust. As the poor girl strode away from the table, her tears streaming down her face pathetically with a muffled noise of whining, the rest of the canteen looked after her with somewhat sympathetic eyes, except for this table, the two Slytherin and the man who was practically one himself, who couldn't find any heart to care.
Pansy watched Lucy’s retreating back as if she had just watched a dull play end. She took a slow sip of her water and set the glass down with a soft click.
"Northern Europe?" Pansy mused. "I hear it's very cold this time of year. I hope she brought a sturdy coat. Or at least a book on how to mind her own business."
"Very cold, and very lonely.” Ron muttered, though he didn't look particularly upset as he went back to his lunch. "Brutal, mate. But she totally had it coming. Been waiting for this bullshit to end for months, actually. The way she was lurking around was starting to give me the creeps.”
“You look very scary, Harry.” Hermione added, her eyes wide. "That is exactly the expression I spent three hours briefing you to use for my court case last week. If there’s a next time, please remember exactly how you feel right now and recreate it. It’s remarkably effective.”
The three observers voiced their opinions freely. If Lucy had heard them, she might have cried ten times harder at how easily her pathetic scene was forgotten.
Draco, meanwhile, felt a wave of dark satisfaction wash over him. He looked at Harry as their eyes met, seeing the fierce protection in his husband's eyes, and felt his heart swell. The embarrassment was gone, replaced by the realization that he was truly, deeply untouchable as long as he stood by Harry's side.
"Northern Europe is a bit far, isn't it?" Draco asked softly, his voice finally returning.
The previous coldness in Harry’s eyes melting instantly into warmth. "Not far enough.” he replied. His hand found Draco's thigh under the table and squeezed hard, earning a breathless gasp from him. "Now, where were we? I believe you were telling me about the tart.”
Harry didn't even glance back at the rest of the table. For him, the room had narrowed down to a single person.
“Does he even know we’re here?" Ron asked, looking at Hermione with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I mean, the show was great and all, but we’re still sitting right in front of them, aren't we?” Hermione could only shrug back as an answer.
“What do you expect, Weasley?" Pansy snapped, rolling her eyes. "Harry’s head is full of pictures of Draco lying naked in bed 24/7. You can’t expect a civilized conversation with someone this deranged. I'm speaking from direct experience working with him for months.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?" Hermione mused, though she looked doubtful. "Ronald tells me he works with Harry just fine. Although he does lack determination when working on my cases sometimes... a lot of the time, actually. Although when I told him that if he finished the briefing early, I’d…” She paused, the realization dawning on her. “…make sure Draco was free for an early lunch. He finished a forty-page report in twenty minutes... oh dear... I see it now.”
“Welcome to the nightmare, Granger.” Pansy said, taking a bored bite of her salad. “He doesn’t have a work ethic. As long as the name Draco stays out of the air, everything is fine. But when his tiny brain cells connect with any cell containing a slight amount of Draco in it, it becomes ugly.”
“Merlin… this falls right into workplace misconduct if you think about it, isn’t it?”
“One time he told me to cancel a meeting with the Deputy Head just because he 'promised his wife an on-time dinner.' Can you believe it?” Pansy leaned forward, her voice rising in mock-outrage.
“That’s rough.” Ron admitted, though he looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“I had to call the deputy’s secretary to cancel with the most ridiculous reason I could find! It was humiliating because the meeting was only 30 minutes away!”
The surrounding sounds floated in the air with no weight. Two men locked eyes, a silent challenge passing between them to see who would crack first. With Lucy gone, the theatrical lovesick gaze was gone with it.
It was replaced by something much more dangerous.
Draco tried to maintain his composed, winning smile, but it faltered the moment he felt Harry’s hand move again. It wasn't a gentle rest on his waist or thigh anymore. Harry’s fingers began creeping up his torso, eventually sliding beneath the expensive fabric of Draco's shirt. The touch was possessive and firm. Harry leaned in until his hot breath blew directly against Draco’s skin, making his entire body shiver.
“It seems like I need to collect my paycheck.” Harry continued, his eyes darkening as he leaned even closer. “Considering how well I played along with your little game. I think I've earned a very long and private reward for my performance.”
Draco turned his head abruptly to glare at him. He wanted to snap back but his blushing face betrayed him. His eyes involuntarily trailed down to Harry’s mouth, noting how close they were, barely an inch apart.
“What are you talking about? What game?” Draco’s voice was barely a whisper, breathless.
“You can play innocent all you want, Draco.” Harry murmured, his thumb tracing the frantic, staccato pulse in Draco’s neck. “But I know exactly what you’re doing. You came all the way here to mark your territory and protect what’s yours, didn’t you? So why don’t you finish what you started?
Draco remained wordless, his throat working as he tried to swallow. He had thought he was being subtle, that his possessiveness was masked by the drama, but Harry had seen right through the Slytherin theatrics.
“I’m saying we’re leaving.” Harry whispered against his lips, his hand sliding lower under the shirt to press firmly against Draco’s groin. “I'm taking you to my office right now and making sure you don't have the breath left to say anyone's name but mine.”
Draco’s mouth hung slightly open. His breaths quicken. His hands scrunched at the empty air by his sides, fingers grasping for purchase, while his knees twitched instinctively as Harry’s palm applied a heavy, rhythmic pressure to the length hidden in his trousers. The reaction made Harry’s wicked smile widen.
“Oh? You find this arousing? You little pervert.”
Draco couldn’t fight the pathetic whimper that escaped his throat. A soft, broken sound that was, fortunately, drowned out by the high-pitched drone of Pansy’s voice as she continued to shred Harry's reputation just a few feet away.
“You wanted everyone to see who I belong to? Fine. Now it’s my turn to remind you exactly who owns you.” Harry muttered, his voice dark and ready to devour. “Every inch of you. Your hair... your eyes, nose, lips... your chest, your thighs... your tiny cock, your cun—”
Ggrrgl!
Ron made a noise that sounded like he was drowning in his soup. Hermione quickly grabbed his arm, trying to steady him while looking completely blindsided herself.
“Oh, please! We can still hear you!” Hermione exclaimed, her face turning a bright fiery red that rivaled the Weasley hair. “I do wish you have a productive afternoon, Harry. Draco. But please, for Godric’s sake, take it somewhere else!”
Pansy didn't say a word. She just gave a sharp, elegant salute with her water glass, watching with a wide grin as Harry practically lifted a trembling, crimson-faced Draco out of his seat. Harry didn't even glance back at his friends or offer a parting word. He just simply steered Draco away with a firm, possessive hand.
The trio watched the back of Harry’s head as he led Draco toward the lifts, his hand never leaving the small of Draco’s back as he guided him with a terrifying sense of urgency. The canteen remained in a heavy silence for a heartbeat before erupting into a wave of frantic, respectful whispers. It was the kind of gossip people save for a force of nature.
Pansy let out a short, sharp laugh. “Look at them. You’d think Draco was the one with the Savior complex, but Harry is the one who truly can't breathe if his little prince isn't within arm's reach. It’s absolutely pathological”
Hermione nodded. She was already standing, busy trying to push Ron, who was still eyeing the leftover dessert, toward the exit. “It was a bit much, even for Harry. But…” she glanced back at the empty chair where Lucy had been sitting, “I suppose it sends a very clear message for anyone still interested to think they could seduce Harry out of his marriage, hopefully.”
Pansy stood up as well, smoothing her skirt with a satisfied hum. “Well, my work here is done. I have a feeling the Ministry will be very quiet this afternoon. Most people will be too busy updating their resumes and making sure they haven't accidentally offended a Potter in the last five years.”
As the trio made their way out, they made a mental note, ‘Do not interrupt the Head Auror this afternoon unless someone is actually dying’. They walked away knowing that the Ministry was going to have enough gossip to last for at least a decade.
______________________
At Harry’s office
After Harry closes the door. Everything becomes a blur for Draco.
First, he is kissed senseless against the heavy wood, hands scrabbling for purchase in Harry’s hair. His legs tighten around Harry’s waist, grinding his heat against whatever part of Harry’s body he can reach. He moans shamelessly, Uncaring whether a Silencing Charm has been cast or if the entire Auror department is listening.
Second, he is moved to the desk, sat upon the mahogany while the kiss remains unbroken. Mouths slurping, tongues entwined. In a frantic blur, clothes are shoved aside just enough to free the passage, and in the bling of an eye, Draco is turned to face the desk, his hands bracing against the wood. Harry’s chest pressed down to fully cover Draco's back, a heavy and burning weight that pinned him firmly against the mahogany. His mouth roaming over Draco’s neck and shoulders with wet, open-mouthed kisses.
The shirt is yanked down, exposing a pale frame already mapped with morning hickeys, now being replaced by fresh marks from the same creator.
Draco can’t help but grinds his hips back against Harry’s groin, eliciting a low chuckle. “Impatient, needy little slut.” Draco only moans and pushes back harder at the praise.
The sound of Harry's zipper catching on fabric was the only warning Draco had before he felt the searing heat of Harry’s skin against his own. Harry’s hand came around to the front, gripping Draco’s jaw to tilt his head back for a punishing kiss.
About the time that Draco’s patience seems to run out, he is about to protest as he feels the head of Harry’s cock slide between his crack, the tip nudging the entrance with wet squelch as the lubricant charm be casted wandlessly and wordlessly. Not long after, the tip slipping past the tight ring of muscle with a soft, audible pop, makes Draco jerk violently against the desk, his back arching as he gasps for air, his eyes rolling back until they are nothing but half-lidded crescents of white.
“You’re so beautiful. So gorgeous.” Harry rants, his voice a dark vibration against Draco's spine. “I want to keep you hidden all to myself. Breeding you so you never know a day your belly isn’t swollen with my child, your womb flowing with my seed, your mouth raw and pink from pleasing your husband...”
Harry keep rambling while steadily works his way inside, Draco answering with high-pitched, needy whimpers.
“Please, use me, breed me, I want to carry your child and raise them.” Harry’s pace faltered, his movements stuttering under the weight of an intense arousal at Draco’s desperate chants. “Please keep my womb full, my breasts tender from the milk you’ll drink every day, every night. Please, please, Harry, I- I am yours to ruin! Ah!!”
Draco’s rambling was cut short by a shattered scream as Harry’s patience finally snapped. He slammed his hips home to the hilt with a loud, meaty smack that seemed to vibrate through the wood of the desk. Draco’s eyes rolled back, his spine arching into a violent bow as his thighs quivered and his walls spasmed in a frantic grip around the intrusion, forcing a dark, breathless swear from Harry’s lips.
Harry doesn’t wait. If this is the end of the world and his needs to wait in the blissfully warm and tight hole for it to not break. He wouldn’t do it.
The sheer force of each impact shoved Draco further up the table until his own length bumped against the polished wood, adding a secondary, agonizing friction to the pleasure. Harry leaned down until his chest was inseparable from Draco’s back, crushing him against the mahogany desk. His right hand locked onto Draco’s waist, fingers bruising the pale skin, while his left reached beneath to jerk Draco’s cock in perfect, punishing time with his jackrabbit thrusts. The room was filled with the sound of desperate gasps and the rhythmic, wet smacks of their bodies echoing off the walls.
At this angle, Draco was utterly crushed beneath Harry's weight. He clawed at the corner of the desk just to stay anchored, his other hand blindly scratching at the fabric of Harry’s clothed thigh. Head lay flat against the mahogany, eyes unfocused and floating, while a thin trail of saliva escaped the corner of his mouth. His voice had devolved into a repeated rhythm of obscene 'Ah’s' and non-verbal babbling. His legs give out completely, shaking and jolting with every impact, his toes curling uselessly in the air with every shudder.
It went on for long, agonizing minutes. Draco spiraled through two harsh orgasms with no break between them, his nervous system screaming while Harry remained relentlessly focused on chasing his own first release.
He didn’t remember having a handful of water glasses, nor did he realize he was far past his limit until the peak of the second round hit. The sheer intensity of that second orgasm forced his body into a violent flex, his muscles locking tight. His mouth fell open in a silent shout as the air was punched out of his lungs. As his release jetted out in long, white ropes that smeared the dark mahogany, he felt a sharp slip of heat, the tension in his bladder finally giving way. He didn't even have the mental capacity to panic about the reality of pissing himself right there in the Head Auror’s office, within the hallowed, pristine walls of the Ministry of Magic, when all of it happened.
His body continued to shudder as the stream of urine spilled out, staining both the desk and the burgundy rug, the spray swung wildly by the impact of Harry’s relentless thrusting. Draco’s legs jolted in every direction while Harry’s hand continued to grip and jerk him, intent on wringing every last drop out of him. It was only when Draco slipped into the hollow haze of overstimulation that his peak finally weakened. He went limp, his head flopping uselessly back onto the desk, completely succumbed to being used until his husband was satisfied.
Luckily for Draco, the end finally came. Harry’s thrusts turned erratic, his deep pants growing louder and more guttural. He lifted himself slightly, his hands shifting from Draco’s bruised hips to fist and crumple the elegant silvery hair. With a few more jerky, deep-seated thrusts, Harry was undone, shooting his load deep into Draco with a long, raw, and satisfied moan.
Harry flopped down onto Draco, his weight a heavy grounding comfort. His mouth trailed wet, lingering kisses over Draco’s sweat-slicked back and neck. While his hand, which had been fisting Draco's hair, released its grip to begin a gentle kneading and caressing of the silvery strands. His hips kept up a slow, cooling thrust, the movement creating an obscene squelch as the mixture of their fluids acted as a slick lubricant, winding down the peak of their shared intensity.
“Hahh.. hahh.. hahh....”
Their ragged breathing was the only sound in the silent office. Harry pressed a final tender kiss to the nape of Draco's neck and murmured, “I think this is my new favorite place to fuck you.”
He raises his head, taking in Draco’s disheveled state, the disheveled hair sticking to a damp forehead, eyes gleaming with tears, and a body flushed a deep, feverish red. Draco’s lips, swollen and gleaming with saliva, parted as he struggled for air.
His eyes were still dazed, unfocused, as he managed a shaky answer. “Hahh... no way. T-this will... happen again...”
“Why not?”
“B-Because you aren't the one who pissed on the Ministry rug, that’s why, Harry!” Draco shouts with half-embarrassment, half-fury. The stain can be fixed within seconds by a simple spell. But the knowledge of it, the mental image of him pissing himself in the heart of the Ministry will forever sitting with him every time he walked these marble halls. He prayed he wouldn't have a reason to visit the office again for a long, long time.
Harry chuckled, the sound vibrating against Draco’s spine. “What is there to be embarrassed about? You’ve painted our home with your fluids, both cum and piss. If not the entire house, then at least three-quarters of it. This office is nothing compared to the territory you’ve claimed at home.”
“Shut up, Potter!” Draco turned his head to glare, but the movement caused his internal muscles to squeeze Harry’s cooling erection, evoking a hoarse moan from his husband. Suddenly, a dark, wicked glint sparked in Harry’s emerald eyes. He braced himself up on his elbows, still lodged deep inside Draco’s heat, his lips curling into a devilish smirk.
“If you’re so worried about the rug, let me even the score.”
“What are you talking ab- Hghnnm!”
Draco’s protest was cut short as he felt a new, searing liquid beginning to flow inside him, hotter and thinner than semen. His sensitive walls contracted violently, squeezing around the foreign sensation. Harry let out a long, low sigh of relief. Draco could feel the warmth beginning to overflow, trailing down his thighs, the distinct scent hitting his nose.
“Nghhh..hnghm..”
Draco shuddered, fresh tears threatening to spill. But instead of the fury he expected to feel, a wave of primal satisfaction washed over him. He felt claimed, utterly and irreversibly. The tension drained out of him, replaced by a strange, relaxed arousal. He strained to turn his head further, meeting Harry’s gaze, and openly moaned into his husband's mouth as Harry reclaimed him with a deep, searing kiss, while the warmth continued to flow.
When Harry finally pulled back just an inch, his voice was a gravelly rasp. "Happy now?"
“No way in hell.” Draco breathed against his lips, even as his eyes softened. Harry only smiled and leaned back in to continue the kiss, drowning out any further protests.
After the storm calmed down, they finally separated from the desk and moved to the long guest sofa, tangling together in a relaxed heap. Draco lay on top of Harry, their bodies oriented in a perfect 69 position. Harry’s head near Draco’s knees and vice versa.
Draco looked back over his shoulder, his eyes heavy with tiredness but still burning with a lingering fire. Without a word, he turned back to take Harry into his mouth, moaning softly as he began to lick and suck, cleaning his husband with the devoted care of a perfect spouse. Harry lounged back comfortably, enjoying the view of Draco’s spent, aching body. He watched as the deep-seated fluids from Harry’s release trailed slowly down Draco’s thighs, marking him even in the afterglow.
His hands reached up to grope at Draco’s backside, kneading the soft flesh until it swelled between his fingers. He leaned in, his mouth pressing against the puffy, sensitive rim of Draco’s entrance. The contact made Draco falter, a sharp gasp catching in his throat, but he soon continued his task with even louder moans and renewed enthusiasm.
As he worked, a sudden thought struck Harry, and he couldn't help but let out a muffled laugh, his face still buried against Draco’s bum. Draco immediately took it as an insult. He stopped what he was doing and twisted his body halfway around, glaring with genuine annoyance.
“What’s so funny?” Draco demanded, his voice still a bit husky.
“Nothing, just... I think tomorrow’s newspaper headlines are going to be wild. I’ve set a new bar for myself, if that’s even possible.”
Draco’s mind flashed to the flashes of cameras he'd seen earlier today, and his imagination ran wild at Harry’s words. Harry continued, a lingering mischievous smile on his face.
“You’re going to have a hard time explaining this to Narcissa and Lucius.”
Draco’s face reddened at the mental image of his parents reading the Daily Prophet over breakfast, but he eventually let out a sharp, breathless huff of laughter.
“But that’s another day’s problem, isn't it? Now let me finish making sure you're properly looked after.”
Harry’s smile widened, pulling Draco back into his space as they continued to lose themselves in the quiet, messy bliss of the afternoon.
______________________
“Seriously, mate? A second one already?!”
The sound so loud, it can be heard even from outside the office.
The shout echoed through the thick wooden doors and out into the hallway. Harry looked through the gaps in his office curtains. He saw several people stop what they were doing to stare. Even his nosy secretary was leaning in to hear more. Harry shook his head. He made a mental note, Next time Ron visits, the Silencing Charm is non-negotiable.
But in truth, Harry didn't really want to hide it. A part of him wanted to stand on his desk and shout it to all of Great Britain. He was going to be a father of two. Draco was pregnant with their second child, and Harry felt like he was walking on air.
"Yes, Ron." Harry said, sitting back in his chair with a calm smile. "And there is absolutely no reason for you to be this shocked.”
"Yeah, but... how do I even say this?" Ron waved his arms around, struggling to find words. "I mean, Hermione and I just got engaged, and we aren't exactly moving slow by any mean, but look at you! You're a father of two and you're still in your early twenties! It’s insane, mate. You’re moving at light speed!”
Harry shrugged, his smile growing wider. "It’s debatable.”
"Let me tell you.” Ron continued, pace-walking across the office. "if the Ministry ever starts a parenting class, you’re disqualified! Your example is dangerous. People will see you and think, 'Oh! Let's have a big, joyful family just like Harry Potter. He looks so happy!' Then everyone will try to have a dozen kids before they turn thirty. The cost of living in the wizarding world will triple just from the diaper market alone!”
Harry laughed at his friend’s dramatic prophecy. "Come on, Ron. You played a part in this, you know?”
Ron froze, looking genuinely horrified. "How? Don’t tell me the thought of me made you two so... excited, or something like that. I will genuinely puke.”
"No, nothing like that, you prat.” Harry rolled his eyes. "Remember when you lost that bet and had to take over my schedule for a whole week?”
Ron sighed, his shoulders dropping in defeat. "Yeah, mate. I remember. You played me real bad on that one.”
"Exactly.” Harry said, his eyes glowing with the memory. "Because you were doing my work, we took a long trip to South America. We left James with Draco’s parents and... well, a lot happened there. Like, A lot."
"Holy... okay, I definitely don't want the details.” Ron said, putting his hands up like a shield. "I already have enough mental wounding from seeing you two eyeing each other at Sunday brunch. I don't need a full report of how you spent your vacation in the tropics."
Harry just smirked, a look that was far more Slytherin than Gryffindor. "Agreed, I don’t think you want to know the answer to that."
"Right, definitely don't." Ron took a breath and finally sat down.
"But look, there’s a reason I’m telling you first.” Harry said warmly. "We’ve talked about it. We want you and Hermione to be the godparents."
Ron’s jaw dropped. "What? Seriously? That’s... that’s a huge deal, Harry! Is Draco really okay with that?"
"He is." Harry nodded. "In exchange, the first child, James, already has godparents from his side of the family. This time, it’s our turn. It’s only fair."
"Fair enough.” Ron said, a look of immense pride crossing his face.
The room fell quiet for a moment, the air light and full of genuine warmth. Ron looked at his best friend, his voice softening into something sincere and rare.
"You know what, Harry? I really am happy for you. After everything we went through, the war, the losses, the constant fighting, you deserve this. You have a great career, a beautiful wife, and kids who love you. You really made it, mate."
Harry felt the weight of those words settle deep in his chest. He stood up and pulled his best friend into a tight hug. "Thanks, mate. You’re the best friend I could ever have."
"You too." Ron said, patting Harry’s back firmly. They broke away, and Ron quickly wiped at his eyes. "Stop it! You're going to make me cry in the middle of the Auror Office. I have a reputation!"
"You're the one who started the emotional talk!" Harry joked, his voice thick with a warmth he didn't try to hide.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I have to go find Hermione now. She’s going to be thrilled about being a godmother. Oh gods, it’s the only thing she’ll talk about for the next month. Pray for me, Harry."
"Amen to you, Ron."
"See you tomorrow!"
"See you, mate. Give Hermione my love."
After Ron left, Harry finished the rest of his paperwork with a newfound burst of energy. He gathered his things and stepped out into the hall, passing Pansy, who gave him a knowing smirk that suggested she didn't need to be told about South America to know exactly what had happened there. Harry just smiled and kept walking, headed straight for the Ministry’s main atrium.
He stepped into the Floo and called out his home address. As the green flames subsided and he stepped onto the familiar rug of his living room, he was met with the most beautiful sight he could imagine.
There was Draco, looking slender and elegant in the soft evening light, holding a babbling James in his arms. The table was already set, and the air smelled of a home-cooked meal and the faint, clean scent of soap and expensive parchment that always followed Draco. Harry couldn't help but smile like a fool.
Draco turned toward him, his silver eyes softening with a smile that was for Harry alone. James spotted his father and let out a delighted shriek, reaching out his tiny, grasping hands.
"Welcome home, love." Draco said softly.
Harry crossed the room in two strides, kissing Draco with a depth that spoke of every memory they shared, before pulling them both into a crushing, protective hug. He was, without a doubt, the luckiest man in the world.