Happy Holidays, dysonrules!
Author: ficliously
Recipient: dysonrules
Title: Stupid Pointy Git
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, hint of Hermione/Ron
Summary: Draco wants to be an Auror but the Ministry doesn't agree. When Harry sticks up for him, he gets Draco as his new partner for his efforts. Various stake-outs, some drinking, and a lot of paperwork ensue.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Some language, AU
Deathly Hallows compliant? Nope. DH never happened. This fic is based after a long, drawn-out war in which Draco spied for the Order and Harry and Ginny broke up a long time ago.
Word Count: 4,893
Author's Notes: I didn't get a chance to include your specific prompts, so you won't see any duct tape or cigars below. I did fit in a slice of confident!Draco and a liberal dash of humor (I like to think), so hopefully you'll like it. Thanks to S for a wonderful beta job and general support. Happy H/D holidays!
Harry was tired. It was Friday evening, he'd just returned to the office after a long day of being diplomatic with the goblins over at Gringotts, and all he really wanted to do was turn in his case report and go home. He sighed as he made his way to his boss' office, thinking wistfully of the earl grey sitting in his cupboard at home.
"But sir, I don't understand, have you even seen my scores? I'm in the ninety-eighth percentile! There's no way you could let Finnegan in with an 89, and not-"
"I understand, Mr. Malfoy. It is not a matter of scores." Malfoy? Harry looked up, to where the office door had been left ajar. Thin wrists, pale-to-deathly complexion, blinding hair... Harry sighed again.
"Then what IS it a matter of,sir?" Harry stopped, curious, and watched Malfoy's shoulders square slightly in anticipation.
"It is rather a question of behavior, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt replied smoothly, tidying some papers into a pile on his desk.
"Behavior?" Malfoy's voice was like ice. Shacklebolt merely looked at him. "My behavior, sir, has been nothing short of exemplary. Why don't we just be honest with each other? I hear that it promotes better working relationships, and since we will surely be colleagues in the near future, we'd better start now-"
"Mr. Malfoy-"
"I think we both know-" Malfoy continued, raising his voice to carry above Shacklebolt's baritone, "that this has nothing to do with my behavior whatsoever. I think we both know that this has everything to do with the fact that I am-"
"A stupid pointy git?" Malfoy stiffened as if he'd been stabbed. Harry almost smiled. The blond pivoted slowly, as if every inch closer to facing him only twisted the knife.
"Potter." Harry's ghost smile turned quickly into a certain frown at Malfoy's tone. "What a... pleasant surprise."
"Charmed as always, Malfoy, I'm sure. Sir, I have the Gringotts case report-" Harry edged around Malfoy, who appeared to be frozen to the spot in front of Shacklebolt's desk like an icy pillar of hate, and dropped the fat manila folder in front of his boss. He was careful not to touch Malfoy, in case pointy miserableness was catching or something. Shacklebolt looked briefly as if he might roll his eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter. You may leave.”
“Good night, Sir. Malfoy.” Malfoy barely inclined his head, and his face was so pinched with the effort to be civil, trying so hard and he looked so miserable, that something deep inside Harry was touched. He stopped, confused. Was he actually pitying Malfoy? Sure, the man had given up everything he’d ever known or believed in to join and spy for a side that really didn’t want him during the war. Yes, he had provided vital insider information to the order, and if not for him they might have lost to Voldemort after all. But still. This was Malfoy.
“Mr. Potter? Is there a problem?” Harry sighed yet again and knew Ron was probably going to kill him when he found out about this.
“Sir… I think you should give him a chance.”
“Give him a chance?” Shacklebolt looked blank, as if he hadn’t the faintest idea who Harry could be referring to.
“Y’know, the git.” He stabbed a thumb in Malfoy’s direction. Malfoy looked stricken.
“Well, I appreciate your opinion as always, but this is a decision that rests with higher authorities,” Shacklebolt said delicately. “Meaning not you.” Apparently under the impression that the conversation was over, he began to file the case report Harry had just turned in. Harry didn’t move. He wasn’t really sure how to proceed. This was new territory for him - uncharted waters. He wasn’t used to defending Malfoy. He was usually the one throwing the punches.
Harry glanced at his school rival. Malfoy looked mortified.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, Potter,” he hissed, “but you better just… stop. Now.”
Harry chuckled. “I seem to remember you were better at threats a few years ago. Been too long away from the influence of Slytherins?” He jumped slightly as he felt one of those weirdly long fingers jab into his side, just under his lowest rib. “Ow, Malfoy, what the hell!?”
“Just shut the hell up, Potter, just get out of here, I can take care of myself! I certainly don’t need you poking around-“
“I believe I said you were dismissed,” Shacklebolt said loudly, swiveling back around in his chair to face the pair with the “I am tired, armed, and dangerous” look. Neither Harry nor Malfoy moved.
“Sir, it’s just that he really does deserve it.”
Shacklebolt’s eyebrows nearly flew off his head. “And why do you think he deserves it, Potter?”
“Well… he is a war hero, sir. Oh, stop grinning, Malfoy, it’s not a compliment, it’s a fact. He sacrificed as much as any of us for the cause-"
"More," Malfoy muttered, still smirking. "and anyway," Harry continued, raising his voice and shooting Malfoy a look, "it's only fair."
"I'm sorry to disappoint," Shacklebolt said briskly, "but life just isn't fair."
"Look," Harry said desperately - why couldn't he just let this drop? "If he screws up then you can kick him out and no one’s the wiser. But if he does well, then it just makes you look good, right? He deserves a chance.”
“You really think so, Mr. Potter?” Shacklebolt asked, steepling his hands.
Harry squirmed slightly under the critical gaze of his boss, but held fast. “Yeah, I really do.”
“Very well, then. Welcome to the Ministry, Mr. Malfoy. Say hello to your new partner.”
“What-”
“No-"
Shacklebolt held up his hands against the combined protest. “Mr. Potter, you vouched for him, now he is your responsibility. And Mr. Malfoy, are you seriously going to refuse a position that you obviously worked so very hard for?”
“Sir, you can’t honestly expect me to work with this cretin?”
“Malfoy, are you fucking kidding me? I killed Voldemort!”
“And who gave you the information to do it?” Malfoy’s self-satisfied smirk made Harry sick.
“You see?” Shacklebolt said, smiling. “You’re perfectly suited for each other. Now, goodnight.” His eyes narrowed as both young men failed to move. “I said get out of my office. Now.”
*
“I don’t know why I’m surprised that the famous Harry Potter couldn’t keep his nose out of someone else’s business.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry said, disgusted. They were back in the hall, Shacklebolt’s door shut soundly behind them, and all Harry wanted to do was bugger off home and not think about Malfoy for a good nine hours. He was halfway down the hall when he heard a small cough from behind him. “What?"
Malfoy looked seriously uncomfortable - he’d looked that way a lot tonight, Harry reflected. It couldn’t be easy for him. “Well, it’s just… I am. Grateful.”
Harry blinked. He had no idea what to do with this whole situation, it was too alien to deal with at such a late hour. He decided to take it for what it was. “No problem. Get some sleep, Malfoy. See you Monday.”
*
"Bloody hell, mate, I am so sorry." Harry couldn't help but smile at the truly baleful look in his friend's eyes. "I mean, bloody HELL. Malfoy!? Malfoy?!”
"Oh, calm down, Ron, honestly. He's not that bad."
Ron looked shocked. "Hermione, do you even know who we're talking about? This is bloody MALFOY."
"I'm not stupid, Ron," Hermione snapped. "And I mean it, he's not all that horrible. He's really rather clever."
"He called you a you know what!" Ron hissed.
"Language he no doubt heard his horrid father spouting all the time at home," Hermione said dismissively. "He always got awfully good marks at school."
Ron looked grievously pained. "Just because someone is smart does not mean they aren't a git, Hermione!" Hermione only gave him a look that clearly said she begged to differ. Ron gave up and turned back to Harry. "Look, mate, you know there's only one thing to do in this situation."
"Oh, yeah?" Harry asked, smiling. "What's that?"
"Get pissed!" Ron practically yelled. "Two more over here, please, miss."
"Right you are, Mr. Weasely, sir," said the curvy blonde behind the bar, giving Ron a mock salute. Ron nearly giggled. Hermione looked stern.
"You really shouldn't be drinking so much, Ronald."
"Oh, come on, Hermione. We're, er... un-celebrating!" Harry laughed and accepted the proffered glass despite Hermione's disapproving eye; Ron was right. Drink was not a bad idea in this situation.
"Shacklebolt sounds like a real hard-ass," Ron remarked sometime (and several drinks) later. "Maybe it's not so bad I didn't join the force, eh?" Harry squirmed at Ron's half-hearted chuckle.
"I know the twins really love having you around to help out," he said, careful not to mention that time Ron flunked out of Auror training.
“Weasley Wizard Wheezes,” Ron slurred, taking another long pull at his beer, “a family business.”
“I thought that new charmed quill you developed the other day to have chats in class without the professor knowing was rather clever,” Hermione remarked, seemingly carelessly. But Harry saw the worry line between her eyes and knew complimenting this charm was hard for Hermione; it made use of that spell which had so infuriated her back at Hogwarts: Muffliato.
Regardless, Ron brightened. “Yeah, it was,” he said with a goofy grin. “They’ve already sold out of those.”
He looked smug for a few quiet moments. Then he seemed to shake himself. “Oh, right. Harry. So sorry you’ve got to work with that prick on Monday.”
“’Makes two of us, mate,” Harry replied seriously. Ron snorted into his beer and Hermione’s brow smoothed. Until the bartender looked like she might be coming their way, when an entirely new furrow appeared. The bartender thought better of her decision. Hermione smiled, and even dared a tiny pat on Ron’s shoulder, which of course he didn’t notice. Harry watched them, his two best friends, and felt warm, comfortable, and perfectly at home. Monday felt like a long way away.
*
Monday morning did arrive, and apparently with the sole goal of kicking Harry’s ass. The alarm didn’t go off, his glasses apparently walked away when he wasn’t looking, sponge-baths really weren’t his thing, the scruffiness on his chin was starting to itch, and his hair... actually, his hair didn’t count, it was always a mess.
“Oh, my god, Potter, I didn’t think it was possible for you to look more tragic!”
“I’m really not in the mood, Malfoy,” Harry growled, nursing a bitter coffee, an even more bitter outlook on life in general, and trying not to think about how like a convict he looked. “Couldn’t you have taken another lift? I didn’t want to look at your face until I had to.”
Malfoy, who had looked like he was in a good mood - he would be, the freak, he probably loved Monday mornings - sneered. What a surprise. “Nice, Potter. What a great start to my first day.”
“You wouldn’t be here without me,” Harry pointed out as Malfoy edged as far from him as possible in the crowded lift.
“Your life is miserable, your friends only like you for your scar, and your looks are an insult to the Ministry and polite society as a whole,” Malfoy deadpanned, not even sparing Harry a glance. The petite witch behind them with the heaps of chocolate curls giggled. Malfoy looked smug. Harry wanted to hit him. Great, he thought. Nine o’clock on Monday morning and he was already contemplating blunt force trauma.
They arrived at the correct floor and exited the lift in frosty silence. Harry knew Malfoy would've left immediately (run away like a girl, he thought savagely), only Harry was assigned to show him around and get him settled in. He grimaced at the thought.
"Are you planning on standing there looking sorry for yourself very much longer?" Malfoy's voice made Harry want to strangle babies. He clenched his hand around his coffee, enjoying the distraction of the scalding cup from his homicidal urges. Maybe he should look into a stress-ball; it might prove essential now that he and Malfoy would be seeing so much of each other. His feelings of goodwill and gratitude towards the other man from Friday were well and truly gone. He could hardly remember having them in the first place.
He closed his eyes and tried to be zen like Hermione was always saying. Breathe in, breathe out. "What the fuck have I gotten myself into?" he murmured.
"My virgin ears are affronted, Potter. Does Shacklebolt know you speak like that?"
"You," Harry barked, opening his eyes and stabbing a finger at Malfoy. "Don't talk."
"Excuse-"
"No," Harry said loudly. Malfoy subsided, looking slightly confused. Harry suddenly realized that Malfoy had no idea what he was doing. His grip on his mug loosened slightly at the thought.
"Come on," he said gruffly, and started off down the hall, not bothering to see if Malfoy was even coming. Malfoy, looking severely pained at having to actually rely on anyone, especially Harry, for anything, caught up quickly and fell into step beside him.
"Why are you walking next to me?" Harry growled.
"Well I'm not bloody following you, scarface," Malfoy responded in a low voice.
"My name - morning," Harry cut himself of to respond to Hefferman, a fellow Auror, as the man cut between Harry and Malfoy down the narrow hallway. "My name is Harry."
"Please," Malfoy scoffed. "If you ever use my first name I'll gut you."
"Not like I could say it without laughing," Harry interrupted. Malfoy narrowed his eyes in warning, but continued without comment in the name of his point.
"Don't expect anything but insults or just Potter from me."
"Just Potter, then."
Malfoy looked annoyed, but didn't know where his desk was yet. He stayed quiet.
They reached the end of the corridor, where it opened up to reveal a large common area housing about a dozen desks. On the far side there were the standard floor-to-ceiling windows that indicated offices. The whole place was coordinated in taupes and grays and everything looked rather washed out under the fluorescent lights.
"Every office looks the same," Malfoy muttered, clearly put out.
"When have you ever worked in an office?" Harry asked, surprised out of his annoyance by general curiosity.
"Oh, so now I'm allowed to talk?" Malfoy snapped.
"Well, you just did," Harry pointed out.
"Shut up and tell me where my desk is."
Harry opened his mouth to deliver a cutting retort, caught the stares his and Malfoy's argument was attracting from his (their) coworkers, and closed it. "Over here," he said instead, and led Malfoy over to where a new desk identical to his own had appeared pushed against it. They both took a seat and stared at each other across their joined desks.
"Oh, this will never do," Malfoy said witheringly. "How am I ever to get anything done when I have your face to distract me?"
"I am quite distracting," Harry drawled in a passable imitation of Malfoy's own tone.
"Kindly get stuffed. So what are we doing today?"
*
Aside from the disaster of a morning, the day actually didn't go so badly. Harry was in his kitchen putting away some groceries he'd picked up on the way home when it hit him that he'd actually managed to be civil to Malfoy for one entire day. He smiled. "I'm all grown up," he murmured to himself, and then drank some milk straight from the jug to fend off the silly feeling.
He and Malfoy had worked amiably on paperwork all day (well at least he had; Malfoy had moaned the whole time and eventually managed to convince one of the secretary that he had a disorder that involved writing. She ended up doing the latter half of his paperwork for him, despite Harry's frequent protests). They had parted at the end of the day amicably enough. All in all, Harry was a little bit baffled at how smoothly things had gone.
"I told you."
"I know," Harry said, grinning. "I should know by now never to doubt you."
"You should," Hermione agreed, arching a fiery eyebrow and just barely holding back a smile. Harry laughed.
"Do you want anything to eat before you go? I just went shopping."
"No, thank you," Hermione said. She had fire-called over to see how Harry's first day with Malfoy had been. "I should actually be getting back. We just got a whole new shipment in and I can't wait to have a look."
"Have fun with that," Harry said, pulling a face. Hermione's profession - Head Researcher for the Ministry (or Ancient Runes Freak, as Ron called it) - had never interested Harry much. Hermione explained once that it was actually a cross of the Muggle jobs of paleontologist and historian. Ron has said, "Paleo-what?" and she'd let it drop.
Their goodbyes said, Harry watched Hermione's face melt back into the flames. He sat on the couch and stared at his blank television screen, listening to the silence and thinking. Hermione really had been right, but it was still weird to consider. He felt like maybe the world was ending or something. He and Malfoy actually getting along? Harry shivered. This whole adulthood thing was actually starting to freak him out.
*
“I didn’t expect to see you here yet.” Harry paused as he noticed the small mountain range of papers and files arranged like a barricade around Malfoy’s hunched shoulders. “And... you’re actually working.”
Malfoy didn’t look up. “Shacklebolt’s waiting in his office. Said to go in when you got here.”
Harry sat down at his desk with a huff and watched Malfoy scribble away for a few more seconds. “Seriously. This is weird. I thought you were allergic to paper or something.”
“I came in early. Couldn’t sleep.” Looking closer, Harry noticed the delicate bruises under Malfoy’s eyes and the sickly fragile look of his skin. There was a beat of bemused silence as Harry had no idea what to do.
“Well...” he said, because he sensed Malfoy was going through some deep emotional crisis and didn’t exactly want to reminisce about the war. “Should we go see Shacklebolt then?”
“Yes.” Malfoy led the way. He still hadn’t looked at Harry.
*
In the car the silence was unbearable. Harry drummed on the steering wheel and cast around for something to break it. “So...” He glanced over at Malfoy, who was looking out the window. “A Seer, huh?”
“What, sorry?” Okay, this was getting really weird. Malfoy had just apologized for not paying attention.
“I said we’re going to see a Seer, huh?” Harry repeated, a little too loudly. Malfoy stared at him dully.
“I know,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a child, or a crazy person. “I was standing right next to you when Shacklebolt gave us the case.” Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then added, “Idiot.”
Harry almost sighed in relief, but caught himself just in time. Still. Insults. He could work with that.
“Well, I just mean. You know. Should be interesting.”
“I suppose so.” Malfoy’s attention was back on the window.
“I mean, she was right about the Minister’s kids.”
“Yep.” Harry frowned. “That case was hell.”
“Hm.”
The silence returned as Harry remembered the solid week of panic a few months ago when the Minister of Magic’s two youngest children had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Finding their little lifeless bodies in that dripping cellar had been one of the worst moments of his life. Mostly because he’d been relieved that it was finally over. They had been acting on a tip from a Madam Renee Simon, and now Shacklebolt wanted them to see if she had any other useful tidbits to share with the Ministry.
“That fucker deserves to rot in Azkaban,” Harry said with savage pleasure, remembering the wild eyes of the man they caught on the run only a few days later.
“Too bad. I think he’s actually getting The Kiss soon.” Malfoy ran a finger through the fog of his breath on the window absently. “I hope she wears bat glasses like Trelawney.”
Harry snorted. “What?”
“You remember,” Malfoy said, tracing two tiny googly eyes and a pair of antennae. “She wore those goggle things that made her look like a bug.”
Harry was definitely laughing now. “I didn’t even know you took Divination!”
“Of course I did,” Malfoy snapped, his voice a little stronger. “It was my favorite subject. After potions, of course.” His eyes glazed over a bit, and Harry didn’t want to know what he was thinking or how Snape was involved.
“I hated potions. Trelawney was always predicting my death.”
Malfoy’s attention snapped back to Harry. “I never knew that.” Harry didn’t like the manic gleam in his eyes.
“Yeah...” he said uneasily. Malfoy was smiling and it was creepy.
“I wish I had known that at school.” Malfoy’s voice was almost wistful, mourning lost opportunities.
“This is it!” Harry parked quickly.
*
“Come in, my dears, come in!” Madame Renee Simon ushered the pair into her living room, which was surprisingly sun-lit and devoid of any oddly draped scarves or heady aromas.
“Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” Harry said, all business. Malfoy frowned at him.
“Please, sit!” Madame Simon said, thrusting her arms out. Harry and Malfoy nearly fell onto the coach and stared up at her frighteningly genuine smile.
"So what may I do for you boys?"
"Well, we were just wondering-"
"Simon - that's a French name," Malfoy said, looking up from a porcelain figurine of a big-headed shepherdess on the bookcase he'd been toying with.
"Oui," Madame Simon said, delighted. "Parlez-vous français?"
"Oui," Malfoy responded with a perfect accent. "J'ai la famille française. Nous avions l'habitude d'entrer là en été." Harry stared at him.
Madame Simon actually clapped her hands. "It's so nice to meet someone that speaks my home language!"
"Likewise, Madame Simon."
"Oh," the Madame's voice dropped to a husky murmur and she reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Malfoy's knee.
"Call me Renee."
Malfoy, contrary to the horror Harry was experiencing, smiled cheekily.
"And you may call me Draco."
"Okay!" Harry urgently thought the subject should be changed. "We're here to ask you a few questions!"
Malfoy turned his grin on Harry, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Yes, we are. That is, if you don't mind... Renee."
Something in Renee's face changed as she watched Draco tease Harry, and she reluctantly withdrew her hand. "Whatever you would like, my dears. I am, as they say, an open book."
When Harry had gotten through his various questions about the goings on of the Ministry, cryptic in case she actually had no idea what he was talking about ("Is that tip we received from that person about a robbery of sometime in the last few months reliable?"), it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. Malfoy was trying not to yawn, at least not obviously, and Harry's own stomach was not happy. Renee smiled knowingly when it emitted a particularly loud complaint.
"Would you like to stay for a late lunch, boys?"
"Oh, we wouldn't want to trouble you," Harry said sadly.
"You really are incredibly dense," Malfoy said, apparently becoming resigned to the fact. "We would love to stay for lunch, Renee." She lit up when he smiled at her and led them back into the kitchen, where they found a variety of cheeses, pies, and various fruits waiting for them. Harry's stomach approved loudly. He smiled apologetically at Renee, who only ordered them to "dig in".
"So how long have you two worked together?" Renee asked, daintily picking at her food.
"Aboou ah momf." Harry swallowed his mouthful and tried again. "About a month."
"Too long," Malfoy added. Harry shot him a look.
"Really?" Renee asked. "Only a month?"
"You sound surprised," Malfoy observed, concerned with choosing his next perfect strawberry.
"You two are very... connected," Renee said carefully.
"What?"
"Connected?" Renee shrugged. "I sense a strong bond between you. I thought you must have been together longer." Harry colored a bit at the word 'together' and didn't know why.
"We used to go to school together," Harry explained. He didn't mention how they used to hate each other. Malfoy gave him a funny look. Harry only ate another cracker.
*
"I can't believe you survived a whole week working with that git." Hermione was absent from their weekly Friday night get-together this time, pleading an overload at work. Ron was taking the chance to get drunk. More so than usual.
Harry sipped at his own beer and thought about telling Ron. "Well," he started carefully. "He's not really. A git."
"I mean," Ron continued, oblivious. "He's just such a gi - what did you say?"
"I said that he's not really all that bad." Ron's brain didn't appear to process this. He stared at Harry.
"Not. Not that... bad?" Harry worried that he might have broken Ron. "But he's... he's Malfoy!"
"I know!" Harry said, running an agitated hand through his hair. "I don't know what's happened! It's like he's... like he's grown up or something." Like we both have, he couldn't tell Ron.
*
"I hate stake-outs."
"You've never been on a stake-out, Malfoy." Harry found the address and parked across the street.
"I've watched a whats-it." Harry peered at Malfoy.
"A what?"
"You know, one of those Muggle things. A mavie? Moivy?"
"Movie?"
"Yeah, that. I've seen one of those. Nothing ever happens on stake-outs." Harry wondered which movies Malfoy had been watching, and made a mental note to show him some better ones.
Three hours later nothing had happened. Malfoy had immersed himself whole-heartedly into his pocket crossword puzzle book.
"What's a three letter word for intelligent snark?"
"Wit." Harry's eyes were starting to glaze over. Malfoy continued to scribble answers in his little book for a few more moments before Harry realized. He was staring at Malfoy. At Malfoy's hair, to be exact.
He shook himself quickly and fastened his gaze on the dark windows across the street. Before long it had slid back to Malfoy's eyelashes, apparently of its own accord. "Pretty," Harry thought and then almost choked. Stake-out, he thought. Focus.
"Potter?" Malfoy asked, without taking his eyes from his puzzle. "Why are you staring at me?"
"I'm not, I'm not staring, why would I be staring? It's not possible, the sight of your face makes me cry!"
"Then why are you still looking?"
"I'm... not?" Something was wrong. There was something odd going on in Harry's stomach. Something... fluttery. And Malfoy had very thin lips, and that shouldn't be attractive. Attractive? Malfoy? Harry's brain broke.
"Seriously," Malfoy sighed, flipping the book shut. "Do I have something on my face?"
Harry sort of fell over onto Malfoy before he knew what he was doing. He hadn't really thought this through and ended up crashing his nose into the other man's face.
"OW! What the fuck, Harry!?"
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, pulling himself back into his own corner. Malfoy cursed for a few more minutes, making a show of rubbing his forehead and muttering something about how he would kill Harry if he'd damaged his perfect face. Then he stilled. Realization seemed to dawn on him and Harry prayed he wouldn't say anything and they could both go home and act like this had never happened.
Then Malfoy was coming close in one smooth movement, and before Harry even grasped what was going on he had Malfoy's lips pressed against his own. Harry couldn’t think. His brain just sort of shut off. That happened a lot around Malfoy. Draco. Malfoy.
The kiss only lasted a moment, tentative, a question. It was long enough for Harry to panic. He pulled back and stared at Malfoy. Draco. There was something in his eyes that Harry had never noticed before, something completely honest and pure. Things seemed to click into place, and it didn't matter anymore that this was Malfoy, that this was inconceivable. It didn't matter anymore that Ron was going to kill him. All that mattered was Draco was looking at him like that and Harry didn't want him to stop.
Harry kissed him again. This time it was Draco who was caught off-guard. He squeaked in surprise. This kiss was much longer, and softer. When they pulled back Harry didn't know what to say. All he could do was look at Draco and wonder why he'd never seen him before.
"This is crazy," he murmered.
Draco looked very serious and for a moment Harry was afraid he was going to - what, break up with him? It's not like they were dating. Yet his brain whispered. He told it to to shut up.
"This will be difficult." Draco paused and stared at Harry critically. Harry squirmed. "Mostly because you're a total prat." Harry snorted and Draco gave a shit-eating grin and everything was back to normal. Almost.
Recipient: dysonrules
Title: Stupid Pointy Git
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, hint of Hermione/Ron
Summary: Draco wants to be an Auror but the Ministry doesn't agree. When Harry sticks up for him, he gets Draco as his new partner for his efforts. Various stake-outs, some drinking, and a lot of paperwork ensue.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): Some language, AU
Deathly Hallows compliant? Nope. DH never happened. This fic is based after a long, drawn-out war in which Draco spied for the Order and Harry and Ginny broke up a long time ago.
Word Count: 4,893
Author's Notes: I didn't get a chance to include your specific prompts, so you won't see any duct tape or cigars below. I did fit in a slice of confident!Draco and a liberal dash of humor (I like to think), so hopefully you'll like it. Thanks to S for a wonderful beta job and general support. Happy H/D holidays!
Harry was tired. It was Friday evening, he'd just returned to the office after a long day of being diplomatic with the goblins over at Gringotts, and all he really wanted to do was turn in his case report and go home. He sighed as he made his way to his boss' office, thinking wistfully of the earl grey sitting in his cupboard at home.
"But sir, I don't understand, have you even seen my scores? I'm in the ninety-eighth percentile! There's no way you could let Finnegan in with an 89, and not-"
"I understand, Mr. Malfoy. It is not a matter of scores." Malfoy? Harry looked up, to where the office door had been left ajar. Thin wrists, pale-to-deathly complexion, blinding hair... Harry sighed again.
"Then what IS it a matter of,sir?" Harry stopped, curious, and watched Malfoy's shoulders square slightly in anticipation.
"It is rather a question of behavior, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt replied smoothly, tidying some papers into a pile on his desk.
"Behavior?" Malfoy's voice was like ice. Shacklebolt merely looked at him. "My behavior, sir, has been nothing short of exemplary. Why don't we just be honest with each other? I hear that it promotes better working relationships, and since we will surely be colleagues in the near future, we'd better start now-"
"Mr. Malfoy-"
"I think we both know-" Malfoy continued, raising his voice to carry above Shacklebolt's baritone, "that this has nothing to do with my behavior whatsoever. I think we both know that this has everything to do with the fact that I am-"
"A stupid pointy git?" Malfoy stiffened as if he'd been stabbed. Harry almost smiled. The blond pivoted slowly, as if every inch closer to facing him only twisted the knife.
"Potter." Harry's ghost smile turned quickly into a certain frown at Malfoy's tone. "What a... pleasant surprise."
"Charmed as always, Malfoy, I'm sure. Sir, I have the Gringotts case report-" Harry edged around Malfoy, who appeared to be frozen to the spot in front of Shacklebolt's desk like an icy pillar of hate, and dropped the fat manila folder in front of his boss. He was careful not to touch Malfoy, in case pointy miserableness was catching or something. Shacklebolt looked briefly as if he might roll his eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Potter. You may leave.”
“Good night, Sir. Malfoy.” Malfoy barely inclined his head, and his face was so pinched with the effort to be civil, trying so hard and he looked so miserable, that something deep inside Harry was touched. He stopped, confused. Was he actually pitying Malfoy? Sure, the man had given up everything he’d ever known or believed in to join and spy for a side that really didn’t want him during the war. Yes, he had provided vital insider information to the order, and if not for him they might have lost to Voldemort after all. But still. This was Malfoy.
“Mr. Potter? Is there a problem?” Harry sighed yet again and knew Ron was probably going to kill him when he found out about this.
“Sir… I think you should give him a chance.”
“Give him a chance?” Shacklebolt looked blank, as if he hadn’t the faintest idea who Harry could be referring to.
“Y’know, the git.” He stabbed a thumb in Malfoy’s direction. Malfoy looked stricken.
“Well, I appreciate your opinion as always, but this is a decision that rests with higher authorities,” Shacklebolt said delicately. “Meaning not you.” Apparently under the impression that the conversation was over, he began to file the case report Harry had just turned in. Harry didn’t move. He wasn’t really sure how to proceed. This was new territory for him - uncharted waters. He wasn’t used to defending Malfoy. He was usually the one throwing the punches.
Harry glanced at his school rival. Malfoy looked mortified.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to pull, Potter,” he hissed, “but you better just… stop. Now.”
Harry chuckled. “I seem to remember you were better at threats a few years ago. Been too long away from the influence of Slytherins?” He jumped slightly as he felt one of those weirdly long fingers jab into his side, just under his lowest rib. “Ow, Malfoy, what the hell!?”
“Just shut the hell up, Potter, just get out of here, I can take care of myself! I certainly don’t need you poking around-“
“I believe I said you were dismissed,” Shacklebolt said loudly, swiveling back around in his chair to face the pair with the “I am tired, armed, and dangerous” look. Neither Harry nor Malfoy moved.
“Sir, it’s just that he really does deserve it.”
Shacklebolt’s eyebrows nearly flew off his head. “And why do you think he deserves it, Potter?”
“Well… he is a war hero, sir. Oh, stop grinning, Malfoy, it’s not a compliment, it’s a fact. He sacrificed as much as any of us for the cause-"
"More," Malfoy muttered, still smirking. "and anyway," Harry continued, raising his voice and shooting Malfoy a look, "it's only fair."
"I'm sorry to disappoint," Shacklebolt said briskly, "but life just isn't fair."
"Look," Harry said desperately - why couldn't he just let this drop? "If he screws up then you can kick him out and no one’s the wiser. But if he does well, then it just makes you look good, right? He deserves a chance.”
“You really think so, Mr. Potter?” Shacklebolt asked, steepling his hands.
Harry squirmed slightly under the critical gaze of his boss, but held fast. “Yeah, I really do.”
“Very well, then. Welcome to the Ministry, Mr. Malfoy. Say hello to your new partner.”
“What-”
“No-"
Shacklebolt held up his hands against the combined protest. “Mr. Potter, you vouched for him, now he is your responsibility. And Mr. Malfoy, are you seriously going to refuse a position that you obviously worked so very hard for?”
“Sir, you can’t honestly expect me to work with this cretin?”
“Malfoy, are you fucking kidding me? I killed Voldemort!”
“And who gave you the information to do it?” Malfoy’s self-satisfied smirk made Harry sick.
“You see?” Shacklebolt said, smiling. “You’re perfectly suited for each other. Now, goodnight.” His eyes narrowed as both young men failed to move. “I said get out of my office. Now.”
*
“I don’t know why I’m surprised that the famous Harry Potter couldn’t keep his nose out of someone else’s business.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry said, disgusted. They were back in the hall, Shacklebolt’s door shut soundly behind them, and all Harry wanted to do was bugger off home and not think about Malfoy for a good nine hours. He was halfway down the hall when he heard a small cough from behind him. “What?"
Malfoy looked seriously uncomfortable - he’d looked that way a lot tonight, Harry reflected. It couldn’t be easy for him. “Well, it’s just… I am. Grateful.”
Harry blinked. He had no idea what to do with this whole situation, it was too alien to deal with at such a late hour. He decided to take it for what it was. “No problem. Get some sleep, Malfoy. See you Monday.”
*
"Bloody hell, mate, I am so sorry." Harry couldn't help but smile at the truly baleful look in his friend's eyes. "I mean, bloody HELL. Malfoy!? Malfoy?!”
"Oh, calm down, Ron, honestly. He's not that bad."
Ron looked shocked. "Hermione, do you even know who we're talking about? This is bloody MALFOY."
"I'm not stupid, Ron," Hermione snapped. "And I mean it, he's not all that horrible. He's really rather clever."
"He called you a you know what!" Ron hissed.
"Language he no doubt heard his horrid father spouting all the time at home," Hermione said dismissively. "He always got awfully good marks at school."
Ron looked grievously pained. "Just because someone is smart does not mean they aren't a git, Hermione!" Hermione only gave him a look that clearly said she begged to differ. Ron gave up and turned back to Harry. "Look, mate, you know there's only one thing to do in this situation."
"Oh, yeah?" Harry asked, smiling. "What's that?"
"Get pissed!" Ron practically yelled. "Two more over here, please, miss."
"Right you are, Mr. Weasely, sir," said the curvy blonde behind the bar, giving Ron a mock salute. Ron nearly giggled. Hermione looked stern.
"You really shouldn't be drinking so much, Ronald."
"Oh, come on, Hermione. We're, er... un-celebrating!" Harry laughed and accepted the proffered glass despite Hermione's disapproving eye; Ron was right. Drink was not a bad idea in this situation.
"Shacklebolt sounds like a real hard-ass," Ron remarked sometime (and several drinks) later. "Maybe it's not so bad I didn't join the force, eh?" Harry squirmed at Ron's half-hearted chuckle.
"I know the twins really love having you around to help out," he said, careful not to mention that time Ron flunked out of Auror training.
“Weasley Wizard Wheezes,” Ron slurred, taking another long pull at his beer, “a family business.”
“I thought that new charmed quill you developed the other day to have chats in class without the professor knowing was rather clever,” Hermione remarked, seemingly carelessly. But Harry saw the worry line between her eyes and knew complimenting this charm was hard for Hermione; it made use of that spell which had so infuriated her back at Hogwarts: Muffliato.
Regardless, Ron brightened. “Yeah, it was,” he said with a goofy grin. “They’ve already sold out of those.”
He looked smug for a few quiet moments. Then he seemed to shake himself. “Oh, right. Harry. So sorry you’ve got to work with that prick on Monday.”
“’Makes two of us, mate,” Harry replied seriously. Ron snorted into his beer and Hermione’s brow smoothed. Until the bartender looked like she might be coming their way, when an entirely new furrow appeared. The bartender thought better of her decision. Hermione smiled, and even dared a tiny pat on Ron’s shoulder, which of course he didn’t notice. Harry watched them, his two best friends, and felt warm, comfortable, and perfectly at home. Monday felt like a long way away.
*
Monday morning did arrive, and apparently with the sole goal of kicking Harry’s ass. The alarm didn’t go off, his glasses apparently walked away when he wasn’t looking, sponge-baths really weren’t his thing, the scruffiness on his chin was starting to itch, and his hair... actually, his hair didn’t count, it was always a mess.
“Oh, my god, Potter, I didn’t think it was possible for you to look more tragic!”
“I’m really not in the mood, Malfoy,” Harry growled, nursing a bitter coffee, an even more bitter outlook on life in general, and trying not to think about how like a convict he looked. “Couldn’t you have taken another lift? I didn’t want to look at your face until I had to.”
Malfoy, who had looked like he was in a good mood - he would be, the freak, he probably loved Monday mornings - sneered. What a surprise. “Nice, Potter. What a great start to my first day.”
“You wouldn’t be here without me,” Harry pointed out as Malfoy edged as far from him as possible in the crowded lift.
“Your life is miserable, your friends only like you for your scar, and your looks are an insult to the Ministry and polite society as a whole,” Malfoy deadpanned, not even sparing Harry a glance. The petite witch behind them with the heaps of chocolate curls giggled. Malfoy looked smug. Harry wanted to hit him. Great, he thought. Nine o’clock on Monday morning and he was already contemplating blunt force trauma.
They arrived at the correct floor and exited the lift in frosty silence. Harry knew Malfoy would've left immediately (run away like a girl, he thought savagely), only Harry was assigned to show him around and get him settled in. He grimaced at the thought.
"Are you planning on standing there looking sorry for yourself very much longer?" Malfoy's voice made Harry want to strangle babies. He clenched his hand around his coffee, enjoying the distraction of the scalding cup from his homicidal urges. Maybe he should look into a stress-ball; it might prove essential now that he and Malfoy would be seeing so much of each other. His feelings of goodwill and gratitude towards the other man from Friday were well and truly gone. He could hardly remember having them in the first place.
He closed his eyes and tried to be zen like Hermione was always saying. Breathe in, breathe out. "What the fuck have I gotten myself into?" he murmured.
"My virgin ears are affronted, Potter. Does Shacklebolt know you speak like that?"
"You," Harry barked, opening his eyes and stabbing a finger at Malfoy. "Don't talk."
"Excuse-"
"No," Harry said loudly. Malfoy subsided, looking slightly confused. Harry suddenly realized that Malfoy had no idea what he was doing. His grip on his mug loosened slightly at the thought.
"Come on," he said gruffly, and started off down the hall, not bothering to see if Malfoy was even coming. Malfoy, looking severely pained at having to actually rely on anyone, especially Harry, for anything, caught up quickly and fell into step beside him.
"Why are you walking next to me?" Harry growled.
"Well I'm not bloody following you, scarface," Malfoy responded in a low voice.
"My name - morning," Harry cut himself of to respond to Hefferman, a fellow Auror, as the man cut between Harry and Malfoy down the narrow hallway. "My name is Harry."
"Please," Malfoy scoffed. "If you ever use my first name I'll gut you."
"Not like I could say it without laughing," Harry interrupted. Malfoy narrowed his eyes in warning, but continued without comment in the name of his point.
"Don't expect anything but insults or just Potter from me."
"Just Potter, then."
Malfoy looked annoyed, but didn't know where his desk was yet. He stayed quiet.
They reached the end of the corridor, where it opened up to reveal a large common area housing about a dozen desks. On the far side there were the standard floor-to-ceiling windows that indicated offices. The whole place was coordinated in taupes and grays and everything looked rather washed out under the fluorescent lights.
"Every office looks the same," Malfoy muttered, clearly put out.
"When have you ever worked in an office?" Harry asked, surprised out of his annoyance by general curiosity.
"Oh, so now I'm allowed to talk?" Malfoy snapped.
"Well, you just did," Harry pointed out.
"Shut up and tell me where my desk is."
Harry opened his mouth to deliver a cutting retort, caught the stares his and Malfoy's argument was attracting from his (their) coworkers, and closed it. "Over here," he said instead, and led Malfoy over to where a new desk identical to his own had appeared pushed against it. They both took a seat and stared at each other across their joined desks.
"Oh, this will never do," Malfoy said witheringly. "How am I ever to get anything done when I have your face to distract me?"
"I am quite distracting," Harry drawled in a passable imitation of Malfoy's own tone.
"Kindly get stuffed. So what are we doing today?"
*
Aside from the disaster of a morning, the day actually didn't go so badly. Harry was in his kitchen putting away some groceries he'd picked up on the way home when it hit him that he'd actually managed to be civil to Malfoy for one entire day. He smiled. "I'm all grown up," he murmured to himself, and then drank some milk straight from the jug to fend off the silly feeling.
He and Malfoy had worked amiably on paperwork all day (well at least he had; Malfoy had moaned the whole time and eventually managed to convince one of the secretary that he had a disorder that involved writing. She ended up doing the latter half of his paperwork for him, despite Harry's frequent protests). They had parted at the end of the day amicably enough. All in all, Harry was a little bit baffled at how smoothly things had gone.
"I told you."
"I know," Harry said, grinning. "I should know by now never to doubt you."
"You should," Hermione agreed, arching a fiery eyebrow and just barely holding back a smile. Harry laughed.
"Do you want anything to eat before you go? I just went shopping."
"No, thank you," Hermione said. She had fire-called over to see how Harry's first day with Malfoy had been. "I should actually be getting back. We just got a whole new shipment in and I can't wait to have a look."
"Have fun with that," Harry said, pulling a face. Hermione's profession - Head Researcher for the Ministry (or Ancient Runes Freak, as Ron called it) - had never interested Harry much. Hermione explained once that it was actually a cross of the Muggle jobs of paleontologist and historian. Ron has said, "Paleo-what?" and she'd let it drop.
Their goodbyes said, Harry watched Hermione's face melt back into the flames. He sat on the couch and stared at his blank television screen, listening to the silence and thinking. Hermione really had been right, but it was still weird to consider. He felt like maybe the world was ending or something. He and Malfoy actually getting along? Harry shivered. This whole adulthood thing was actually starting to freak him out.
*
“I didn’t expect to see you here yet.” Harry paused as he noticed the small mountain range of papers and files arranged like a barricade around Malfoy’s hunched shoulders. “And... you’re actually working.”
Malfoy didn’t look up. “Shacklebolt’s waiting in his office. Said to go in when you got here.”
Harry sat down at his desk with a huff and watched Malfoy scribble away for a few more seconds. “Seriously. This is weird. I thought you were allergic to paper or something.”
“I came in early. Couldn’t sleep.” Looking closer, Harry noticed the delicate bruises under Malfoy’s eyes and the sickly fragile look of his skin. There was a beat of bemused silence as Harry had no idea what to do.
“Well...” he said, because he sensed Malfoy was going through some deep emotional crisis and didn’t exactly want to reminisce about the war. “Should we go see Shacklebolt then?”
“Yes.” Malfoy led the way. He still hadn’t looked at Harry.
*
In the car the silence was unbearable. Harry drummed on the steering wheel and cast around for something to break it. “So...” He glanced over at Malfoy, who was looking out the window. “A Seer, huh?”
“What, sorry?” Okay, this was getting really weird. Malfoy had just apologized for not paying attention.
“I said we’re going to see a Seer, huh?” Harry repeated, a little too loudly. Malfoy stared at him dully.
“I know,” he said slowly, like he was talking to a child, or a crazy person. “I was standing right next to you when Shacklebolt gave us the case.” Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment, and then added, “Idiot.”
Harry almost sighed in relief, but caught himself just in time. Still. Insults. He could work with that.
“Well, I just mean. You know. Should be interesting.”
“I suppose so.” Malfoy’s attention was back on the window.
“I mean, she was right about the Minister’s kids.”
“Yep.” Harry frowned. “That case was hell.”
“Hm.”
The silence returned as Harry remembered the solid week of panic a few months ago when the Minister of Magic’s two youngest children had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Finding their little lifeless bodies in that dripping cellar had been one of the worst moments of his life. Mostly because he’d been relieved that it was finally over. They had been acting on a tip from a Madam Renee Simon, and now Shacklebolt wanted them to see if she had any other useful tidbits to share with the Ministry.
“That fucker deserves to rot in Azkaban,” Harry said with savage pleasure, remembering the wild eyes of the man they caught on the run only a few days later.
“Too bad. I think he’s actually getting The Kiss soon.” Malfoy ran a finger through the fog of his breath on the window absently. “I hope she wears bat glasses like Trelawney.”
Harry snorted. “What?”
“You remember,” Malfoy said, tracing two tiny googly eyes and a pair of antennae. “She wore those goggle things that made her look like a bug.”
Harry was definitely laughing now. “I didn’t even know you took Divination!”
“Of course I did,” Malfoy snapped, his voice a little stronger. “It was my favorite subject. After potions, of course.” His eyes glazed over a bit, and Harry didn’t want to know what he was thinking or how Snape was involved.
“I hated potions. Trelawney was always predicting my death.”
Malfoy’s attention snapped back to Harry. “I never knew that.” Harry didn’t like the manic gleam in his eyes.
“Yeah...” he said uneasily. Malfoy was smiling and it was creepy.
“I wish I had known that at school.” Malfoy’s voice was almost wistful, mourning lost opportunities.
“This is it!” Harry parked quickly.
*
“Come in, my dears, come in!” Madame Renee Simon ushered the pair into her living room, which was surprisingly sun-lit and devoid of any oddly draped scarves or heady aromas.
“Would you like some tea?”
“No, thank you,” Harry said, all business. Malfoy frowned at him.
“Please, sit!” Madame Simon said, thrusting her arms out. Harry and Malfoy nearly fell onto the coach and stared up at her frighteningly genuine smile.
"So what may I do for you boys?"
"Well, we were just wondering-"
"Simon - that's a French name," Malfoy said, looking up from a porcelain figurine of a big-headed shepherdess on the bookcase he'd been toying with.
"Oui," Madame Simon said, delighted. "Parlez-vous français?"
"Oui," Malfoy responded with a perfect accent. "J'ai la famille française. Nous avions l'habitude d'entrer là en été." Harry stared at him.
Madame Simon actually clapped her hands. "It's so nice to meet someone that speaks my home language!"
"Likewise, Madame Simon."
"Oh," the Madame's voice dropped to a husky murmur and she reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Malfoy's knee.
"Call me Renee."
Malfoy, contrary to the horror Harry was experiencing, smiled cheekily.
"And you may call me Draco."
"Okay!" Harry urgently thought the subject should be changed. "We're here to ask you a few questions!"
Malfoy turned his grin on Harry, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "Yes, we are. That is, if you don't mind... Renee."
Something in Renee's face changed as she watched Draco tease Harry, and she reluctantly withdrew her hand. "Whatever you would like, my dears. I am, as they say, an open book."
When Harry had gotten through his various questions about the goings on of the Ministry, cryptic in case she actually had no idea what he was talking about ("Is that tip we received from that person about a robbery of sometime in the last few months reliable?"), it was nearly two o'clock in the afternoon. Malfoy was trying not to yawn, at least not obviously, and Harry's own stomach was not happy. Renee smiled knowingly when it emitted a particularly loud complaint.
"Would you like to stay for a late lunch, boys?"
"Oh, we wouldn't want to trouble you," Harry said sadly.
"You really are incredibly dense," Malfoy said, apparently becoming resigned to the fact. "We would love to stay for lunch, Renee." She lit up when he smiled at her and led them back into the kitchen, where they found a variety of cheeses, pies, and various fruits waiting for them. Harry's stomach approved loudly. He smiled apologetically at Renee, who only ordered them to "dig in".
"So how long have you two worked together?" Renee asked, daintily picking at her food.
"Aboou ah momf." Harry swallowed his mouthful and tried again. "About a month."
"Too long," Malfoy added. Harry shot him a look.
"Really?" Renee asked. "Only a month?"
"You sound surprised," Malfoy observed, concerned with choosing his next perfect strawberry.
"You two are very... connected," Renee said carefully.
"What?"
"Connected?" Renee shrugged. "I sense a strong bond between you. I thought you must have been together longer." Harry colored a bit at the word 'together' and didn't know why.
"We used to go to school together," Harry explained. He didn't mention how they used to hate each other. Malfoy gave him a funny look. Harry only ate another cracker.
*
"I can't believe you survived a whole week working with that git." Hermione was absent from their weekly Friday night get-together this time, pleading an overload at work. Ron was taking the chance to get drunk. More so than usual.
Harry sipped at his own beer and thought about telling Ron. "Well," he started carefully. "He's not really. A git."
"I mean," Ron continued, oblivious. "He's just such a gi - what did you say?"
"I said that he's not really all that bad." Ron's brain didn't appear to process this. He stared at Harry.
"Not. Not that... bad?" Harry worried that he might have broken Ron. "But he's... he's Malfoy!"
"I know!" Harry said, running an agitated hand through his hair. "I don't know what's happened! It's like he's... like he's grown up or something." Like we both have, he couldn't tell Ron.
*
"I hate stake-outs."
"You've never been on a stake-out, Malfoy." Harry found the address and parked across the street.
"I've watched a whats-it." Harry peered at Malfoy.
"A what?"
"You know, one of those Muggle things. A mavie? Moivy?"
"Movie?"
"Yeah, that. I've seen one of those. Nothing ever happens on stake-outs." Harry wondered which movies Malfoy had been watching, and made a mental note to show him some better ones.
Three hours later nothing had happened. Malfoy had immersed himself whole-heartedly into his pocket crossword puzzle book.
"What's a three letter word for intelligent snark?"
"Wit." Harry's eyes were starting to glaze over. Malfoy continued to scribble answers in his little book for a few more moments before Harry realized. He was staring at Malfoy. At Malfoy's hair, to be exact.
He shook himself quickly and fastened his gaze on the dark windows across the street. Before long it had slid back to Malfoy's eyelashes, apparently of its own accord. "Pretty," Harry thought and then almost choked. Stake-out, he thought. Focus.
"Potter?" Malfoy asked, without taking his eyes from his puzzle. "Why are you staring at me?"
"I'm not, I'm not staring, why would I be staring? It's not possible, the sight of your face makes me cry!"
"Then why are you still looking?"
"I'm... not?" Something was wrong. There was something odd going on in Harry's stomach. Something... fluttery. And Malfoy had very thin lips, and that shouldn't be attractive. Attractive? Malfoy? Harry's brain broke.
"Seriously," Malfoy sighed, flipping the book shut. "Do I have something on my face?"
Harry sort of fell over onto Malfoy before he knew what he was doing. He hadn't really thought this through and ended up crashing his nose into the other man's face.
"OW! What the fuck, Harry!?"
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled, pulling himself back into his own corner. Malfoy cursed for a few more minutes, making a show of rubbing his forehead and muttering something about how he would kill Harry if he'd damaged his perfect face. Then he stilled. Realization seemed to dawn on him and Harry prayed he wouldn't say anything and they could both go home and act like this had never happened.
Then Malfoy was coming close in one smooth movement, and before Harry even grasped what was going on he had Malfoy's lips pressed against his own. Harry couldn’t think. His brain just sort of shut off. That happened a lot around Malfoy. Draco. Malfoy.
The kiss only lasted a moment, tentative, a question. It was long enough for Harry to panic. He pulled back and stared at Malfoy. Draco. There was something in his eyes that Harry had never noticed before, something completely honest and pure. Things seemed to click into place, and it didn't matter anymore that this was Malfoy, that this was inconceivable. It didn't matter anymore that Ron was going to kill him. All that mattered was Draco was looking at him like that and Harry didn't want him to stop.
Harry kissed him again. This time it was Draco who was caught off-guard. He squeaked in surprise. This kiss was much longer, and softer. When they pulled back Harry didn't know what to say. All he could do was look at Draco and wonder why he'd never seen him before.
"This is crazy," he murmered.
Draco looked very serious and for a moment Harry was afraid he was going to - what, break up with him? It's not like they were dating. Yet his brain whispered. He told it to to shut up.
"This will be difficult." Draco paused and stared at Harry critically. Harry squirmed. "Mostly because you're a total prat." Harry snorted and Draco gave a shit-eating grin and everything was back to normal. Almost.