FIC: This Obvious Secret - Harry/Draco, PG13
Title: This Obvious Secret of Ours
Ratings/Warnings: PG13, none!
Wordcount: ~4900
Original Post: here
Summary: There's a difference between 'friends' and 'unofficial couple'.
Notes: Written for lmusic during hd_smoochfest ♥ The Ministry, "I thought you two were a couple", and Snarky!Draco was asked for. As my Draco is naturally that, I figured it'd be an easy write~ The two of them already being friends was an interesting request and for a while I didn't quite know how it happened... I still don't actually! I wrote this under the understanding that it did, and they are close and that's all anyone needs to know. :3
They were soused, both of them, shamefully drunk on punch as they watched the dancers on the Ministry ballroom floor.
"Is it you, or is my head spinning?" Harry asked, squinting at him from the side. He was leaning heavily on Draco, still swaying in place.
Draco wasn't much better off, posture pin-straight except for his outstretched arm, braced against a side pillar of the hall, holding them both upright. "I believe it's me," he decided, blinking once and then again, trying to focus bleary eyes.
Harry sighed heavily, "Well, stoppit," he commanded pushing at Draco's shoulder a little. Draco's hand slipped on the column and they both fell into an undignified heap on the floor.
"Dammit, Draco."
Under the folds of Harry's robe sleeve, he muttered back, "You ungrateful elephant."
----
"Ah, so you did come in," Ginny glanced at her watch as she swept into the office. The sarcastic tilt of her mouth dipped even further south, and she was very clearly unimpressed with her co-worker. "If eleven could even be considered a worthwhile start time."
"Oh, bugger off," Draco grumbled, head in hand. The memory sieve rippled at his words, and he slid the cover over it sharply. By anyone's standards he looked fine, dressed in a simple teal robe with silver embroidery, draped elegantly over a black under robe. To someone who knew him better, or at least saw him more often, it was very dressed down for him.
The redheaded woman wore a standard black and grey robe belted at the waist, with sleeves that pinned high at the elbow. It was practical and streamlined, and she generally wore little different in the office. "At least you changed robes," Ginny continued, perching on the edge of his desk. She eyed him critically, one arm propped on her hip. "Bet was, you'd come in wearing your dress robes, after leaving Harry's."
Draco made an indistinct noise and leaned back in his chair, sipping carefully at his tea. "I do have some foresight, thank you. I left clothes at his place." He passed a hand over his eyes, as if to block out the room around him. "Could you go away now? Your voice is extremely painful and I cannot control what might happen should I lash out."
"Bullocks," She informed him. "You've got the most control out of anyone I've met. You and Harry both." Ginny sighed, "It's really quite disgusting."
Draco cracked one eye open to squint at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"As drunk as you two were last night, on punch no less-"
"That punch was helped along," Draco interrupted, "Thank you very much."
Ginny glared at him, continuing, "-The most you two did was pass out together on the floor."
With some effort, Draco rose from his chair, staggering slightly as he made his way over to the kettle. "What did you expect us to do? Tear the place apart?" He dropped another tea bag in his cup and poured fresh water. "Perhaps duel?"
Ginny shifted and crossed her arms across her chest. She suggested mildly, "Perhaps snog each other silly and have a strip on the concession table?"
Draco froze in the midst of stirring his tea, a drizzle of honey dropping lazily from the jar tipped in his hand. It was a moment before he moved again, and it was with great caution. He favoured her with a suspicious glance, not even slightly dampened by his pained squint from the hangover. "...Your fantasy life is indeed a strange and terrifying place, Ms. Weasley." He moved back to his desk to sit down, even though she was still looming over him. "Please keep it to yourself."
Ginny sighed and swept her hair over one shoulder. Her bangs almost immediately drifted back into her face. "The whole bloody Ministry knows," she informed him. "You don't have to keep it under wraps."
"About your fantasy life? My sympathies for the Ministry." Draco pulled a file folder from under a pile of paper, and attempted to focus on it. After a beat it became clear that he mostly was attempting to focus his bleary gaze. Or ignore Ginny, possibly both.
"No," Ginny reached out and tipped the folder down to force him to meet her eyes. "I mean about you and Harry."
Draco jerked his folder away, sloshing tea across the desk. He pulled his wand out to clean it up, muttering a quick spell under his breath. "Well, it was a Ministry-wide ball last night. I'm sure it's not a shock to see someone under the drink."
Ginny stood, throwing one arm exasperatedly into the air. "Merlin, are you being purposely dense?"
"I'm hungover." he said, as if it was a worthy excuse, and as if Ginny didn't look like she was also developing a massive headache.
"Harry doesn't seem to be," she pointed out.
Draco dismissed it with a shrug of his shoulder. "He drank that infernal liquid he refers to as a 'potion'." There was no denying the results - Harry, sober and pain free - but in the process, the drinker often got particularly sick. It wasn't a side effect that Harry could ever figure out how to counteract, and it wasn't something that Draco liked to suffer through.
"Maybe you should have too," Ginny observed.
One slim eyebrow rose at this suggestion and Draco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely. "I like my insides on the inside. Are you quite done?"
Ginny crossed the room to her desk and sifted through the papers for a small teal-coloured vial. "Draco," she said, waving it in Draco's direction as she spoke, "You and Harry are the bloody Posh and Becks of the Ministry and everyone knows it. And I know you know who they are, so don't make that face at me."
He watched Ginny warily as she crossed back across the office. "It's Harry and his bloody football obsession. I think you're delusional."
"I think you're in denial."
"We all know Harry's going to marry you, Ms Weasley, have several dozen redheaded babies and name them after his parents, war heroes and other various people." Draco ticked off the points on his fingers, and then waved them away. "Merlin forbid he actually use an original name."
"Oh, is that so," Ginny said lightly, leaning closer to him from over his desk. Draco instinctively shifted away, leaning fully back in his seat.
"He has names picked out," he insisted, "You'll need to talk him out of it as they're quite ridiculous."
She shook her head at him, "I don't know why I'm even trying with you." Ginny flashed a view of the small vial again. "Your boyfriend sent this up. He gave strict instructions to make sure you drink it down."
"Oh fuck that." Draco tried to swivel away, but Ginny slid up onto the desk and clamped her hands down on the armrests of the chair.
"So help me," she said slowly, brown eyes steady on his face, "I will make you drink this."
Draco sneered at her. "I'll throw up on you."
Ginny frowned slightly, her eyes narrowing. "That's what the bin is for." The sentence shouldn't have been as threatening as she made it out to be, but a lifetime of brothers gave her enough experience to perfect it.
Draco's mouth twisted slightly as he debated his options. Eventually he relaxed and asked, "If we were Posh and Becks-"
She shoved the bottle, now uncapped, into his mouth. "You'd be Posh."
--
"You should buy me lunch," Draco decided, as they waited in the lift, crowded elbow-to-elbow with a handful of other wizards. Harry looked impeccable for once, his robe pressed and neat, with his hair in some sort of wild order, while Draco felt like he'd just been peeled off the bottom of someone's shoe. At Harry's sidelong glance, Draco clarified, "I lost my lunch this morning, since your redhead stuffed your 'remedy' down my throat. You owe me a meal."
"That's disgusting," Harry commented, making apologetic expressions to the other patrons in the lift. Draco didn't bother, and leaned more heavily on Harry's shoulder, pressing him further into the lift corner. "The potion worked, didn't it?" He elbowed Draco in the side. "You should be buying me lunch."
He gave Harry a dirty look, scoffing, "I am not thanking you for something I didn't ask for."
"Well, I'm not apologising for being considerate," Harry replied. Everyone in the lift shuffled around to let in a witch holding a covered cage. Harry slapped at Draco's hand when he tried to peek under the cover.
"If you want to be considerate," Draco told him, "You should put out for lunch."
By this point Harry was all but boxed in by Draco's shoulders, his chin wedged to one side. He sighed, breath ruffling his friend's fair hair. "Why are we arguing this like neither of us can afford to pay for our own lunches?"
"Because your hangover slop puts me in a terrible mood."
Harry snorted. "Everything puts you in a terrible mood."
At the next floor another man got in the lift, must to everyone's dismay. Draco and Harry were pressed nearly back-to-chest, blocked in by the cage on one side, and by a tall fellow with an armful of brooms on the other. Zipping in before the lift doors snicked shut, department memos fluttered over everyone's heads.
Draco asked, over his shoulder, "Do you think we're like Posh and Becks?"
"Ask me after you get your tits and I might consider 'yes'." Someone in the lift snickered, and Draco glared in everyone's general direction just to cover all bases. Harry smiled innocently as he could manage, one corner of his mouth crooking up and giving him away.
"Why am I always Posh!" Draco's hand smacked into the covered cage as he moved to cross his arms. The cage rattled and something under the cover slinked unpleasantly. Draco paused, waiting for something to appear, but nothing did.
This time it was Harry who reached out to carefully lift the fabric up, casual and discreet. "This he protests," Harry commented, referring to Draco's comment about his role in their supposed couple-dom, "In his perfectly tailored robe and well worked dragon leather boots."
They dipped together, knees bending so they could both peer into the shaded cage. "You got me these boots," Draco responded absently, keeping up the conversation so the silence wouldn't be incriminating and give them away.
Harry carefully lifted the cover higher as the lift paused at the next floor, waiting as one of the occupants left. "You wanted them."
"I didn't ask for them."
"It was your birthday and you hinted." Something slithered inside the cage, tendrils and coils moving slowly in reaction to the exposure to the lift light. Close to Draco's ear, Harry's voice changed, silk syllables and soft words hissing quietly past. A series of glowing eyes blinked out at them both, golden yellow in the dim light. Something shivered a hissing response back just as the woman holding the cage turned, looking sharply at the both of them. They straightened automatically.
Harry dropped the cage cover and smiled his charming 'oh don't mind me I'm Muggle-raised and don't know any better' smile, even though the woman didn't seem wholly convinced by it. Draco reached out past the man with the brooms and started wiggling through the cluster of people to exit the lift. "Hold the door!"
Draco slipped out ahead of Harry, walking quickly down the hall around the corner to the next lift. After Harry had made hasty apologies, politely letting people move aside, he joined him. The next lift they stepped into, down a winding corridor and behind an old wheelbarrow, was much more spacious. The only other occupant was an old gnarled witch in a bright florescent-fringed hat.
"What did it say?" Draco wanted to know, asking about the creature that Harry had spoken to.
Harry grinned at him, nudging his glasses up from where they slid down his nose. The thin wire frames slid back to where they had been previously almost immediately. "It asked the time, and wanted me to let you know - you really are Posh."
Draco shoved him into the lift wall and Harry laughed loudly, not bothering to fend him off.
They left the Ministry in search of food, mostly because they were both craving a post-hangover curry. (They had been drunk together enough times that the fact there was a post-hangover curry caused them little shame.) There was a lovely little restaurant tucked away in a corner not too far from the Ministry phone booth, the lights were dim, and the music was always low.
There was a table near the side windows that they favoured, and though they didn't quite know the owner by name just yet, the waitresses waved them through as soon as the two of them arrived. The silence between them was comfortable and only out of habit was a glance spared for the menus. Harry always had the vindaloo, and Draco could never go any hotter than a plate of rogan josh.
Harry stole the lemon from Draco's iced tea and dropped it in his water. The ice clinked against his glass as he speared the lemon with his straw and stirred it around. "Ginny told me of our future war-hero named children." It was clear that he'd been waiting for a moment to bring it up.
"Did she manage to talk you into original names?" Draco asked, sipping his drink. He seemed genuinely concerned about it.
"Uh, considering she and I aren't having children, no?"
"Bloody useless," Draco muttered resentfully. He tapped his fingers against the table for a moment, lacking something to occupy his hands. "Even for the good of the children she can't manage to do this one small thing."
Harry raised an eyebrow, mouth quirking with skeptical amusement. He pressed the flat of his butter knife over Draco's knuckles, stopping the tapping. "Considering I'm not dating her, or marrying her, I don't think we can use 'for the good of the children' on this one."
Draco flicked his fingers, knocking the knife against his family ring, prominent on his hand. The silverware rang clearly when it hit. "Don't be daft - of course you're marrying her."
"Since I spend most of my time with you these days," Harry said, withdrawing the knife. Smiling, Draco stopped the tapping as well. Harry continued, "Please tell me, when do I ever go on dates with Ginny?"
He didn't get a response right away, and there was a pause in the conversation. Draco blinked pale grey eyes, as if focusing properly on Harry's face. "What was that?" He asked suddenly, a slight crease forming between his brows as he frowned. "The words 'date' and 'insufferable redhead' in the same sentence make me blank out."
Harry sighed, "Draco."
The blond in question waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure the same reason applies to why I don't know when you've gone on…outings with her." The sneer didn't quite make it out of his voice.
One of the waitresses dropped off their dishes, setting steaming plates of rice and curry before both of them. Once she'd left and they'd both started into their curry, Harry returned to the subject from before the interruption. He had never been one to let something go, and it wasn't a quality he'd lost over the years. "I only go on outings with you, as you call it."
"You're telling me that we're dating?" Draco waggled his eyebrows deliberately at Harry over the top of his iced tea. Beneath the table he uncrossed one leg and slid it against the other man's.
Harry kicked him sharply in retaliation, sending Draco swearing into his cup. "If we are, we should probably consider breaking up. You're insufferable." He smiled sweetly into the face of Draco's glare.
"Hardly my fault," Draco grumbled, stealing a drink from Harry's water glass. "You're so bloody complacent."
"You never do the dishes," Harry pointed out.
"I have house elves," Draco responded offhandedly. It was an old argument, one they'd had far too many times after big breakfasts at Harry's flat. "It's not my fault you don't." He leaned across the table, expression abruptly guarded as he accused, "You went to see Grindlewald and the Three Hallows without me."
Peering up at Draco over the rims of his glasses, Harry's green eyes shone with mild confusion. "Actually, I haven't. And even if I had, you don't even like the theatre." He rested his forearms on the table's edge, silverware raised, his attention drawn completely away from his meal.
Suddenly deeply involved with his iced tea, Draco neatly avoided Harry's gaze. "Ah, that's right," he said plainly, with unconvincing sincerity. "I suppose that's good of you, then." He changed the subject without preamble, giving Harry no choice but to follow. "Query - am I currently angry with you? I can never keep track."
"Well," Harry said slowly, as if deciding whether or not to press the subject change - he slipped back into the easiness of their light banter, tucking the moment away to examine later. "We're not sharing the same bed right now, so I suppose I must conclude that we're fighting."
Draco seemed satisfied that they'd moved on. "We're constantly fighting. I'm surprised we used the same lift."
"We must maintain appearances for work, of course."
"Oh, of course. I'd hate to cause an upset." Almost as soon as Draco set his empty glass back on the table, a waitress came around with full cup, sweeping the finished one away. Harry promptly stole the new lemon.
Holding the fruit slice in one hand, he sketched an imaginary headline in the air between them. "Posh Malfoy and Becks Potter in tumulus times - see page 3." The lemon landed with a soft splash in his water glass.
Draco passed him a clean napkin to sop up the water splash. "'Posh Potter' would sound better, with the alliteration and all that." He pretended to critically examine Harry's imaginary newspaper. "Wouldn't we make first page?"
"It would depend on the robe you were wearing," Harry said, as if it should have been his first inclination. "If it were a cover-worthy robe, naturally we'd get moved to cover."
Draco's eyes swept over Harry, one eyebrow raised to question his robe choices, even though it was perfectly acceptable attire for the Ministry. "Well, you'd certainly be no help in that department. Doomed to page three are we."
"Completely fine by me." Harry had suffered through Draco's fashion suggestions through the years, and he had no problem ignoring him through the current meal. "I've had enough of covers for my entire life."
"You say that now," Draco said, raising his hand. "But when I run a successful fashion line, it'll be all over the cover."
Harry shifted his finished plate aside and settled back in his chair. "Embracing your Posh-ness are you?" One eyebrow raised slightly in a questioning manner.
Draco shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "Might as well. I do love a good tailor."
"Having an affair, are you?" Harry frowned playfully, holding a hand over his heart as if wounded by Draco's words. His tone was flat. "I'm hurt."
"Oh please." Draco waved a hand at him, a habit that irked Harry, and they both knew it. "We already went on about your outings with Ms. Weasley-to-be-Potter."
Harry caught Draco's hand in midair, tugging him forward over the plates. His eyes were serious as he made himself perfectly clear, "No outings, and no fiancée." His fingers were tight on the captured sleeve, but his other hand was gentled over Draco's. "I mean it."
Another strange silence stretched between them, one of many in their overall collection. Draco twisted his fingers out of Harry's grip, smoothing the embroidered cuff of his robe almost absently afterwards. "Just because you're tied down, doesn't mean I need to be." He pushed his plate to the side, adding softly, "Honestly, Harry."
"Draco."
The man in question was never quite sure what Harry was trying to express when he said his name like that. Draco tried to revive their previous brevity, "My affairs won't shame you, I promise."
Harry didn't go for it this time and his expression was strange as he replied, "I'm never ashamed of you."
An uncomfortable silence dropped into place as Draco found himself unable to respond to the statement. His fingers danced along the side of his glass, silently slipping through the condensation. Coraline stopped to drop the bill, both men half-heartedly responding to her, and their hands met again over the printed paper slip.
"I'll get it," Harry said.
It was so apologetic that Draco winced and tugged the slip away from him. "No, it's fine. Let me." He touched his wand to the bill after sliding it from the holster in his sleeve, and then returned it to its place. The paper folded in on itself and popped away, and they were free to go.
Harry pressed close as they left the restaurant, his hand resting lightly against Draco's back for a moment. "Thanks," he said quietly. It was the same tone that he used to say Draco's name sometimes, and the blond wondered how he managed to place so many things into the space of one word.
Draco half-turned, patting him on the chest. "Don't make it a habit." They stepped out onto the street and he could move further away. "I'm not at your Beck and call."
"Oh," Harry said wryly, amused despite himself, "Very clever."
-----
Two weeks later and they were back at Harry's flat, shrugging out of dress robes and wizarding world appropriate suits. Draco had abandoned his navy velvet in a pile outside Harry's bathroom, his polished boots staggered in the doorway, with cufflinks and tie stuffed in them.
"That was painful," Draco intoned, sprawled out on the living room couch. The collar of his crisp grey dress shirt had the first few buttons undone, and his sleeve cuffs were pushed to his elbow. "Utterly painful."
Harry stepped out of his bedroom, running his fingers through damp hair. He had a habit of washing the product out of his hair as soon as he could - though he'd managed to find something to tame his generally messy 'do, he didn't like the slicked-back feel of it. Harry nudged Draco's legs to one side and dropped onto the couch beside him. He'd already changed into shorts and a loose tee.
"I didn't think it was so terrible," Harry said. "Inaccurate, of course, but it was cute."
"It was horrid."
Harry smiled and slouched down to kick his bare feet up on the coffee table. "It was cute. The Resurrection Stone was tooooo powerful, and the Invisibility Cloak was tooooo weak-"
"-And the Elder Wand was juuuust right," Draco finished for him. He scoffed and curled into the cushions, his hair poking at odd angles when he did so. "They've made the war a story. A terrible, poorly lit story."
Harry shrugged noncommittally. He'd heard Draco rant about theatre productions far too many times to try and defend the plays anymore. Even if it the Deathly Hallows and Grindlewald's quest for the Elder Wand had been reduced to a two-hour musical called Grindlewald and the Three Hallows.
"I told you," Harry said, tipping his head to the side to look at him. "You hate the theatre." He then asked a question that had been lolling about in the back of his mind for the better part of a week. "Why did you get tickets?"
Draco waved away the question, answering a little too easily, "I'm supposed to be high society, Harry. That includes supporting the arts."
Harry wasn't convinced, but he didn't press the question. He knew Draco could continue giving him reasons for the rest of the night if he had to. They sat there comfortably for a while, Draco with his cheek to the couch and twisting his shirt buttons between his fingers, and Harry flexing his feet, savouring the stretch after wearing dress shoes all night.
Suddenly, Harry said, "Why do we always end up here?"
Again Draco had an immediate answer, "Your place seems to be closer to everything we go to."
"That happens when you live in the city and not some Unplottable place in the country." Draco half-smiled and Harry continued on, "I meant, at the end of the night, most nights, here's you and me." He reached across the space between them and tugged Draco's shirt buttons away from his restless fingers.
Draco crossed his arms loosely around his middle instead. His gaze was passive, soft in the light from the table lamp. "We don't just part ways at a certain hour, you know," he said it as if it were a secret between them. "We could, but it seems like a rubbish idea."
"Very Cinderella," Harry agreed. His voice had gone quiet as well, hushed even thought they were the only ones in the flat. He looked at Draco thoughtfully, something unsaid resting half-formed on his lips.
Draco pushed away from the couch abruptly, sitting up. "You still have that bottle of wine from last weekend?" He shifted, turning to go to the kitchen.
"Hey," Harry caught his sleeve, stopping him in mid-stand. Draco looked down at him; he seemed almost startled, but it vanished after a breath. Harry twisted the sleeve between his fingers until he could cup his hand over Draco's elbow. "Thanks."
Draco's hand dangled limply in the air, fingers still for once. "Nonsense," he murmured, "It's your wine."
Harry ignored him "I mean about tonight," he clarified, so Draco couldn't avoid the subject. "I liked it."
"It wasn't a total waste, then."
"You knew I would," Harry suggested softly. It wasn't a difficult assumption to make - once they'd hated each other and knew just how to drive each other crazy. Then they'd learned, just as quickly, almost everything else.
Draco glanced to the side, an excuse to purposely break whatever moment Harry was trying to create. "Of course I did," he gently tugged his arm away. "Why else would I have taken you with me?"
"But you don't-"
"I forget I don't like it."
"You forget that an awful lot." Draco went silent at this, and Harry pressed on, repeating, "Thanks."
After a moment, Draco mumbled, "I'll get that wine," And then stepped over Harry's extended legs to go to the kitchen. Harry listened to him rifle through the cupboards and pull out a single wine glass, the edge of it ringing against the others in the cupboard. The soft sounds of his movement, and the pop-ksh of the bottle being opened was quiet and familiar, and Harry let his eyes drop closed. He considered skipping the wine and going to straight to bed.
The couch dipped when Draco returned. The cool swell of one of the glasses pressed against Harry's cheek and his eyes fluttered open in slight surprise. "While I'm being forgetful, Harry," Draco canted his head to the side, sipping from his glass. "Remind me - am I angry with you right now?"
Harry blinked up at him, too tired to turn away the wine when Draco passed it to him. "I think we've been fairly agreeable today."
"Will I be exiled to the couch tonight?" Grey eyes watched him carefully, waiting for a reaction as much as an answer. It was an important question, even though it was disguised as their usual banter, and Harry considered his answer carefully.
"No" he said slowly, and sipped from the wine. "I don't see why you'd have to be."
Draco smiled, tapping his fingers to some internal beat, and they finished the glass of wine together before going to bed.
---
When the next Ministry ball was held, it was very much the same as any other ball hosted. The ballroom and adjoining areas were decorated and lit in many beautiful and magical ways, trays of champagne floated from guest to guest, and a table to the side held food and punch.
Harry and Draco arrived together, staggering through one of the Floo's nearly two hours late.
"'Ello, Gin," Harry said when he moved past her in the hall, a silly half-grin escaping across his face. Draco was practically at his hip, arm resting low on his back.
"Insufferable redhead," Draco greeted solemnly.
She looked them over, one eyebrow raised. Harry tried desperately to smooth down his ruffled hair, and Draco looked altogether too smug for just having arrived at the ball. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off of Harry, a hand lingering at his back or elbow, straightening his buttons, adjusting his collar.
Ginny smiled wryly, "About bloody time."
To her surprise, it was Draco who immediately flushed a deep red. Harry winked and tugged him away.
Ratings/Warnings: PG13, none!
Wordcount: ~4900
Original Post: here
Summary: There's a difference between 'friends' and 'unofficial couple'.
Notes: Written for lmusic during hd_smoochfest ♥ The Ministry, "I thought you two were a couple", and Snarky!Draco was asked for. As my Draco is naturally that, I figured it'd be an easy write~ The two of them already being friends was an interesting request and for a while I didn't quite know how it happened... I still don't actually! I wrote this under the understanding that it did, and they are close and that's all anyone needs to know. :3
They were soused, both of them, shamefully drunk on punch as they watched the dancers on the Ministry ballroom floor.
"Is it you, or is my head spinning?" Harry asked, squinting at him from the side. He was leaning heavily on Draco, still swaying in place.
Draco wasn't much better off, posture pin-straight except for his outstretched arm, braced against a side pillar of the hall, holding them both upright. "I believe it's me," he decided, blinking once and then again, trying to focus bleary eyes.
Harry sighed heavily, "Well, stoppit," he commanded pushing at Draco's shoulder a little. Draco's hand slipped on the column and they both fell into an undignified heap on the floor.
"Dammit, Draco."
Under the folds of Harry's robe sleeve, he muttered back, "You ungrateful elephant."
----
"Ah, so you did come in," Ginny glanced at her watch as she swept into the office. The sarcastic tilt of her mouth dipped even further south, and she was very clearly unimpressed with her co-worker. "If eleven could even be considered a worthwhile start time."
"Oh, bugger off," Draco grumbled, head in hand. The memory sieve rippled at his words, and he slid the cover over it sharply. By anyone's standards he looked fine, dressed in a simple teal robe with silver embroidery, draped elegantly over a black under robe. To someone who knew him better, or at least saw him more often, it was very dressed down for him.
The redheaded woman wore a standard black and grey robe belted at the waist, with sleeves that pinned high at the elbow. It was practical and streamlined, and she generally wore little different in the office. "At least you changed robes," Ginny continued, perching on the edge of his desk. She eyed him critically, one arm propped on her hip. "Bet was, you'd come in wearing your dress robes, after leaving Harry's."
Draco made an indistinct noise and leaned back in his chair, sipping carefully at his tea. "I do have some foresight, thank you. I left clothes at his place." He passed a hand over his eyes, as if to block out the room around him. "Could you go away now? Your voice is extremely painful and I cannot control what might happen should I lash out."
"Bullocks," She informed him. "You've got the most control out of anyone I've met. You and Harry both." Ginny sighed, "It's really quite disgusting."
Draco cracked one eye open to squint at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"As drunk as you two were last night, on punch no less-"
"That punch was helped along," Draco interrupted, "Thank you very much."
Ginny glared at him, continuing, "-The most you two did was pass out together on the floor."
With some effort, Draco rose from his chair, staggering slightly as he made his way over to the kettle. "What did you expect us to do? Tear the place apart?" He dropped another tea bag in his cup and poured fresh water. "Perhaps duel?"
Ginny shifted and crossed her arms across her chest. She suggested mildly, "Perhaps snog each other silly and have a strip on the concession table?"
Draco froze in the midst of stirring his tea, a drizzle of honey dropping lazily from the jar tipped in his hand. It was a moment before he moved again, and it was with great caution. He favoured her with a suspicious glance, not even slightly dampened by his pained squint from the hangover. "...Your fantasy life is indeed a strange and terrifying place, Ms. Weasley." He moved back to his desk to sit down, even though she was still looming over him. "Please keep it to yourself."
Ginny sighed and swept her hair over one shoulder. Her bangs almost immediately drifted back into her face. "The whole bloody Ministry knows," she informed him. "You don't have to keep it under wraps."
"About your fantasy life? My sympathies for the Ministry." Draco pulled a file folder from under a pile of paper, and attempted to focus on it. After a beat it became clear that he mostly was attempting to focus his bleary gaze. Or ignore Ginny, possibly both.
"No," Ginny reached out and tipped the folder down to force him to meet her eyes. "I mean about you and Harry."
Draco jerked his folder away, sloshing tea across the desk. He pulled his wand out to clean it up, muttering a quick spell under his breath. "Well, it was a Ministry-wide ball last night. I'm sure it's not a shock to see someone under the drink."
Ginny stood, throwing one arm exasperatedly into the air. "Merlin, are you being purposely dense?"
"I'm hungover." he said, as if it was a worthy excuse, and as if Ginny didn't look like she was also developing a massive headache.
"Harry doesn't seem to be," she pointed out.
Draco dismissed it with a shrug of his shoulder. "He drank that infernal liquid he refers to as a 'potion'." There was no denying the results - Harry, sober and pain free - but in the process, the drinker often got particularly sick. It wasn't a side effect that Harry could ever figure out how to counteract, and it wasn't something that Draco liked to suffer through.
"Maybe you should have too," Ginny observed.
One slim eyebrow rose at this suggestion and Draco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms loosely. "I like my insides on the inside. Are you quite done?"
Ginny crossed the room to her desk and sifted through the papers for a small teal-coloured vial. "Draco," she said, waving it in Draco's direction as she spoke, "You and Harry are the bloody Posh and Becks of the Ministry and everyone knows it. And I know you know who they are, so don't make that face at me."
He watched Ginny warily as she crossed back across the office. "It's Harry and his bloody football obsession. I think you're delusional."
"I think you're in denial."
"We all know Harry's going to marry you, Ms Weasley, have several dozen redheaded babies and name them after his parents, war heroes and other various people." Draco ticked off the points on his fingers, and then waved them away. "Merlin forbid he actually use an original name."
"Oh, is that so," Ginny said lightly, leaning closer to him from over his desk. Draco instinctively shifted away, leaning fully back in his seat.
"He has names picked out," he insisted, "You'll need to talk him out of it as they're quite ridiculous."
She shook her head at him, "I don't know why I'm even trying with you." Ginny flashed a view of the small vial again. "Your boyfriend sent this up. He gave strict instructions to make sure you drink it down."
"Oh fuck that." Draco tried to swivel away, but Ginny slid up onto the desk and clamped her hands down on the armrests of the chair.
"So help me," she said slowly, brown eyes steady on his face, "I will make you drink this."
Draco sneered at her. "I'll throw up on you."
Ginny frowned slightly, her eyes narrowing. "That's what the bin is for." The sentence shouldn't have been as threatening as she made it out to be, but a lifetime of brothers gave her enough experience to perfect it.
Draco's mouth twisted slightly as he debated his options. Eventually he relaxed and asked, "If we were Posh and Becks-"
She shoved the bottle, now uncapped, into his mouth. "You'd be Posh."
--
"You should buy me lunch," Draco decided, as they waited in the lift, crowded elbow-to-elbow with a handful of other wizards. Harry looked impeccable for once, his robe pressed and neat, with his hair in some sort of wild order, while Draco felt like he'd just been peeled off the bottom of someone's shoe. At Harry's sidelong glance, Draco clarified, "I lost my lunch this morning, since your redhead stuffed your 'remedy' down my throat. You owe me a meal."
"That's disgusting," Harry commented, making apologetic expressions to the other patrons in the lift. Draco didn't bother, and leaned more heavily on Harry's shoulder, pressing him further into the lift corner. "The potion worked, didn't it?" He elbowed Draco in the side. "You should be buying me lunch."
He gave Harry a dirty look, scoffing, "I am not thanking you for something I didn't ask for."
"Well, I'm not apologising for being considerate," Harry replied. Everyone in the lift shuffled around to let in a witch holding a covered cage. Harry slapped at Draco's hand when he tried to peek under the cover.
"If you want to be considerate," Draco told him, "You should put out for lunch."
By this point Harry was all but boxed in by Draco's shoulders, his chin wedged to one side. He sighed, breath ruffling his friend's fair hair. "Why are we arguing this like neither of us can afford to pay for our own lunches?"
"Because your hangover slop puts me in a terrible mood."
Harry snorted. "Everything puts you in a terrible mood."
At the next floor another man got in the lift, must to everyone's dismay. Draco and Harry were pressed nearly back-to-chest, blocked in by the cage on one side, and by a tall fellow with an armful of brooms on the other. Zipping in before the lift doors snicked shut, department memos fluttered over everyone's heads.
Draco asked, over his shoulder, "Do you think we're like Posh and Becks?"
"Ask me after you get your tits and I might consider 'yes'." Someone in the lift snickered, and Draco glared in everyone's general direction just to cover all bases. Harry smiled innocently as he could manage, one corner of his mouth crooking up and giving him away.
"Why am I always Posh!" Draco's hand smacked into the covered cage as he moved to cross his arms. The cage rattled and something under the cover slinked unpleasantly. Draco paused, waiting for something to appear, but nothing did.
This time it was Harry who reached out to carefully lift the fabric up, casual and discreet. "This he protests," Harry commented, referring to Draco's comment about his role in their supposed couple-dom, "In his perfectly tailored robe and well worked dragon leather boots."
They dipped together, knees bending so they could both peer into the shaded cage. "You got me these boots," Draco responded absently, keeping up the conversation so the silence wouldn't be incriminating and give them away.
Harry carefully lifted the cover higher as the lift paused at the next floor, waiting as one of the occupants left. "You wanted them."
"I didn't ask for them."
"It was your birthday and you hinted." Something slithered inside the cage, tendrils and coils moving slowly in reaction to the exposure to the lift light. Close to Draco's ear, Harry's voice changed, silk syllables and soft words hissing quietly past. A series of glowing eyes blinked out at them both, golden yellow in the dim light. Something shivered a hissing response back just as the woman holding the cage turned, looking sharply at the both of them. They straightened automatically.
Harry dropped the cage cover and smiled his charming 'oh don't mind me I'm Muggle-raised and don't know any better' smile, even though the woman didn't seem wholly convinced by it. Draco reached out past the man with the brooms and started wiggling through the cluster of people to exit the lift. "Hold the door!"
Draco slipped out ahead of Harry, walking quickly down the hall around the corner to the next lift. After Harry had made hasty apologies, politely letting people move aside, he joined him. The next lift they stepped into, down a winding corridor and behind an old wheelbarrow, was much more spacious. The only other occupant was an old gnarled witch in a bright florescent-fringed hat.
"What did it say?" Draco wanted to know, asking about the creature that Harry had spoken to.
Harry grinned at him, nudging his glasses up from where they slid down his nose. The thin wire frames slid back to where they had been previously almost immediately. "It asked the time, and wanted me to let you know - you really are Posh."
Draco shoved him into the lift wall and Harry laughed loudly, not bothering to fend him off.
They left the Ministry in search of food, mostly because they were both craving a post-hangover curry. (They had been drunk together enough times that the fact there was a post-hangover curry caused them little shame.) There was a lovely little restaurant tucked away in a corner not too far from the Ministry phone booth, the lights were dim, and the music was always low.
There was a table near the side windows that they favoured, and though they didn't quite know the owner by name just yet, the waitresses waved them through as soon as the two of them arrived. The silence between them was comfortable and only out of habit was a glance spared for the menus. Harry always had the vindaloo, and Draco could never go any hotter than a plate of rogan josh.
Harry stole the lemon from Draco's iced tea and dropped it in his water. The ice clinked against his glass as he speared the lemon with his straw and stirred it around. "Ginny told me of our future war-hero named children." It was clear that he'd been waiting for a moment to bring it up.
"Did she manage to talk you into original names?" Draco asked, sipping his drink. He seemed genuinely concerned about it.
"Uh, considering she and I aren't having children, no?"
"Bloody useless," Draco muttered resentfully. He tapped his fingers against the table for a moment, lacking something to occupy his hands. "Even for the good of the children she can't manage to do this one small thing."
Harry raised an eyebrow, mouth quirking with skeptical amusement. He pressed the flat of his butter knife over Draco's knuckles, stopping the tapping. "Considering I'm not dating her, or marrying her, I don't think we can use 'for the good of the children' on this one."
Draco flicked his fingers, knocking the knife against his family ring, prominent on his hand. The silverware rang clearly when it hit. "Don't be daft - of course you're marrying her."
"Since I spend most of my time with you these days," Harry said, withdrawing the knife. Smiling, Draco stopped the tapping as well. Harry continued, "Please tell me, when do I ever go on dates with Ginny?"
He didn't get a response right away, and there was a pause in the conversation. Draco blinked pale grey eyes, as if focusing properly on Harry's face. "What was that?" He asked suddenly, a slight crease forming between his brows as he frowned. "The words 'date' and 'insufferable redhead' in the same sentence make me blank out."
Harry sighed, "Draco."
The blond in question waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure the same reason applies to why I don't know when you've gone on…outings with her." The sneer didn't quite make it out of his voice.
One of the waitresses dropped off their dishes, setting steaming plates of rice and curry before both of them. Once she'd left and they'd both started into their curry, Harry returned to the subject from before the interruption. He had never been one to let something go, and it wasn't a quality he'd lost over the years. "I only go on outings with you, as you call it."
"You're telling me that we're dating?" Draco waggled his eyebrows deliberately at Harry over the top of his iced tea. Beneath the table he uncrossed one leg and slid it against the other man's.
Harry kicked him sharply in retaliation, sending Draco swearing into his cup. "If we are, we should probably consider breaking up. You're insufferable." He smiled sweetly into the face of Draco's glare.
"Hardly my fault," Draco grumbled, stealing a drink from Harry's water glass. "You're so bloody complacent."
"You never do the dishes," Harry pointed out.
"I have house elves," Draco responded offhandedly. It was an old argument, one they'd had far too many times after big breakfasts at Harry's flat. "It's not my fault you don't." He leaned across the table, expression abruptly guarded as he accused, "You went to see Grindlewald and the Three Hallows without me."
Peering up at Draco over the rims of his glasses, Harry's green eyes shone with mild confusion. "Actually, I haven't. And even if I had, you don't even like the theatre." He rested his forearms on the table's edge, silverware raised, his attention drawn completely away from his meal.
Suddenly deeply involved with his iced tea, Draco neatly avoided Harry's gaze. "Ah, that's right," he said plainly, with unconvincing sincerity. "I suppose that's good of you, then." He changed the subject without preamble, giving Harry no choice but to follow. "Query - am I currently angry with you? I can never keep track."
"Well," Harry said slowly, as if deciding whether or not to press the subject change - he slipped back into the easiness of their light banter, tucking the moment away to examine later. "We're not sharing the same bed right now, so I suppose I must conclude that we're fighting."
Draco seemed satisfied that they'd moved on. "We're constantly fighting. I'm surprised we used the same lift."
"We must maintain appearances for work, of course."
"Oh, of course. I'd hate to cause an upset." Almost as soon as Draco set his empty glass back on the table, a waitress came around with full cup, sweeping the finished one away. Harry promptly stole the new lemon.
Holding the fruit slice in one hand, he sketched an imaginary headline in the air between them. "Posh Malfoy and Becks Potter in tumulus times - see page 3." The lemon landed with a soft splash in his water glass.
Draco passed him a clean napkin to sop up the water splash. "'Posh Potter' would sound better, with the alliteration and all that." He pretended to critically examine Harry's imaginary newspaper. "Wouldn't we make first page?"
"It would depend on the robe you were wearing," Harry said, as if it should have been his first inclination. "If it were a cover-worthy robe, naturally we'd get moved to cover."
Draco's eyes swept over Harry, one eyebrow raised to question his robe choices, even though it was perfectly acceptable attire for the Ministry. "Well, you'd certainly be no help in that department. Doomed to page three are we."
"Completely fine by me." Harry had suffered through Draco's fashion suggestions through the years, and he had no problem ignoring him through the current meal. "I've had enough of covers for my entire life."
"You say that now," Draco said, raising his hand. "But when I run a successful fashion line, it'll be all over the cover."
Harry shifted his finished plate aside and settled back in his chair. "Embracing your Posh-ness are you?" One eyebrow raised slightly in a questioning manner.
Draco shrugged one shoulder elegantly. "Might as well. I do love a good tailor."
"Having an affair, are you?" Harry frowned playfully, holding a hand over his heart as if wounded by Draco's words. His tone was flat. "I'm hurt."
"Oh please." Draco waved a hand at him, a habit that irked Harry, and they both knew it. "We already went on about your outings with Ms. Weasley-to-be-Potter."
Harry caught Draco's hand in midair, tugging him forward over the plates. His eyes were serious as he made himself perfectly clear, "No outings, and no fiancée." His fingers were tight on the captured sleeve, but his other hand was gentled over Draco's. "I mean it."
Another strange silence stretched between them, one of many in their overall collection. Draco twisted his fingers out of Harry's grip, smoothing the embroidered cuff of his robe almost absently afterwards. "Just because you're tied down, doesn't mean I need to be." He pushed his plate to the side, adding softly, "Honestly, Harry."
"Draco."
The man in question was never quite sure what Harry was trying to express when he said his name like that. Draco tried to revive their previous brevity, "My affairs won't shame you, I promise."
Harry didn't go for it this time and his expression was strange as he replied, "I'm never ashamed of you."
An uncomfortable silence dropped into place as Draco found himself unable to respond to the statement. His fingers danced along the side of his glass, silently slipping through the condensation. Coraline stopped to drop the bill, both men half-heartedly responding to her, and their hands met again over the printed paper slip.
"I'll get it," Harry said.
It was so apologetic that Draco winced and tugged the slip away from him. "No, it's fine. Let me." He touched his wand to the bill after sliding it from the holster in his sleeve, and then returned it to its place. The paper folded in on itself and popped away, and they were free to go.
Harry pressed close as they left the restaurant, his hand resting lightly against Draco's back for a moment. "Thanks," he said quietly. It was the same tone that he used to say Draco's name sometimes, and the blond wondered how he managed to place so many things into the space of one word.
Draco half-turned, patting him on the chest. "Don't make it a habit." They stepped out onto the street and he could move further away. "I'm not at your Beck and call."
"Oh," Harry said wryly, amused despite himself, "Very clever."
-----
Two weeks later and they were back at Harry's flat, shrugging out of dress robes and wizarding world appropriate suits. Draco had abandoned his navy velvet in a pile outside Harry's bathroom, his polished boots staggered in the doorway, with cufflinks and tie stuffed in them.
"That was painful," Draco intoned, sprawled out on the living room couch. The collar of his crisp grey dress shirt had the first few buttons undone, and his sleeve cuffs were pushed to his elbow. "Utterly painful."
Harry stepped out of his bedroom, running his fingers through damp hair. He had a habit of washing the product out of his hair as soon as he could - though he'd managed to find something to tame his generally messy 'do, he didn't like the slicked-back feel of it. Harry nudged Draco's legs to one side and dropped onto the couch beside him. He'd already changed into shorts and a loose tee.
"I didn't think it was so terrible," Harry said. "Inaccurate, of course, but it was cute."
"It was horrid."
Harry smiled and slouched down to kick his bare feet up on the coffee table. "It was cute. The Resurrection Stone was tooooo powerful, and the Invisibility Cloak was tooooo weak-"
"-And the Elder Wand was juuuust right," Draco finished for him. He scoffed and curled into the cushions, his hair poking at odd angles when he did so. "They've made the war a story. A terrible, poorly lit story."
Harry shrugged noncommittally. He'd heard Draco rant about theatre productions far too many times to try and defend the plays anymore. Even if it the Deathly Hallows and Grindlewald's quest for the Elder Wand had been reduced to a two-hour musical called Grindlewald and the Three Hallows.
"I told you," Harry said, tipping his head to the side to look at him. "You hate the theatre." He then asked a question that had been lolling about in the back of his mind for the better part of a week. "Why did you get tickets?"
Draco waved away the question, answering a little too easily, "I'm supposed to be high society, Harry. That includes supporting the arts."
Harry wasn't convinced, but he didn't press the question. He knew Draco could continue giving him reasons for the rest of the night if he had to. They sat there comfortably for a while, Draco with his cheek to the couch and twisting his shirt buttons between his fingers, and Harry flexing his feet, savouring the stretch after wearing dress shoes all night.
Suddenly, Harry said, "Why do we always end up here?"
Again Draco had an immediate answer, "Your place seems to be closer to everything we go to."
"That happens when you live in the city and not some Unplottable place in the country." Draco half-smiled and Harry continued on, "I meant, at the end of the night, most nights, here's you and me." He reached across the space between them and tugged Draco's shirt buttons away from his restless fingers.
Draco crossed his arms loosely around his middle instead. His gaze was passive, soft in the light from the table lamp. "We don't just part ways at a certain hour, you know," he said it as if it were a secret between them. "We could, but it seems like a rubbish idea."
"Very Cinderella," Harry agreed. His voice had gone quiet as well, hushed even thought they were the only ones in the flat. He looked at Draco thoughtfully, something unsaid resting half-formed on his lips.
Draco pushed away from the couch abruptly, sitting up. "You still have that bottle of wine from last weekend?" He shifted, turning to go to the kitchen.
"Hey," Harry caught his sleeve, stopping him in mid-stand. Draco looked down at him; he seemed almost startled, but it vanished after a breath. Harry twisted the sleeve between his fingers until he could cup his hand over Draco's elbow. "Thanks."
Draco's hand dangled limply in the air, fingers still for once. "Nonsense," he murmured, "It's your wine."
Harry ignored him "I mean about tonight," he clarified, so Draco couldn't avoid the subject. "I liked it."
"It wasn't a total waste, then."
"You knew I would," Harry suggested softly. It wasn't a difficult assumption to make - once they'd hated each other and knew just how to drive each other crazy. Then they'd learned, just as quickly, almost everything else.
Draco glanced to the side, an excuse to purposely break whatever moment Harry was trying to create. "Of course I did," he gently tugged his arm away. "Why else would I have taken you with me?"
"But you don't-"
"I forget I don't like it."
"You forget that an awful lot." Draco went silent at this, and Harry pressed on, repeating, "Thanks."
After a moment, Draco mumbled, "I'll get that wine," And then stepped over Harry's extended legs to go to the kitchen. Harry listened to him rifle through the cupboards and pull out a single wine glass, the edge of it ringing against the others in the cupboard. The soft sounds of his movement, and the pop-ksh of the bottle being opened was quiet and familiar, and Harry let his eyes drop closed. He considered skipping the wine and going to straight to bed.
The couch dipped when Draco returned. The cool swell of one of the glasses pressed against Harry's cheek and his eyes fluttered open in slight surprise. "While I'm being forgetful, Harry," Draco canted his head to the side, sipping from his glass. "Remind me - am I angry with you right now?"
Harry blinked up at him, too tired to turn away the wine when Draco passed it to him. "I think we've been fairly agreeable today."
"Will I be exiled to the couch tonight?" Grey eyes watched him carefully, waiting for a reaction as much as an answer. It was an important question, even though it was disguised as their usual banter, and Harry considered his answer carefully.
"No" he said slowly, and sipped from the wine. "I don't see why you'd have to be."
Draco smiled, tapping his fingers to some internal beat, and they finished the glass of wine together before going to bed.
---
When the next Ministry ball was held, it was very much the same as any other ball hosted. The ballroom and adjoining areas were decorated and lit in many beautiful and magical ways, trays of champagne floated from guest to guest, and a table to the side held food and punch.
Harry and Draco arrived together, staggering through one of the Floo's nearly two hours late.
"'Ello, Gin," Harry said when he moved past her in the hall, a silly half-grin escaping across his face. Draco was practically at his hip, arm resting low on his back.
"Insufferable redhead," Draco greeted solemnly.
She looked them over, one eyebrow raised. Harry tried desperately to smooth down his ruffled hair, and Draco looked altogether too smug for just having arrived at the ball. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off of Harry, a hand lingering at his back or elbow, straightening his buttons, adjusting his collar.
Ginny smiled wryly, "About bloody time."
To her surprise, it was Draco who immediately flushed a deep red. Harry winked and tugged him away.