Archive of Our Own

When James is fifteen, he finds out his dad is having an affair.

For once in his life, he really isn't having a secret snoop around the place, reflexively taking advantage of his dad's unguarded desk. This time, all he wants is a piece of parchment because his friend Danny has tickets to the next Magpies match and James needs to reply right now to say that he can go.

As he's scrabbling through the drawer, he sees the letter, and he doesn't read it, but a single glance shows him all he needs to see, and he knows. It feels like... It feels cold. James is icy-furious, but numb too. He gets to his room as fast as he can, locks the door. He doesn't know what to do, has forgotten how to think. He doesn't leave his room until after lunch the next day, and he still can't think, can't breathe properly, can't look anyone in the eye.

The truth is that when he finds out about the affair, James can't bring himself to tell his mum. He knows that she has a right to know, but he just can't, can't do that to her, can't do it to his little brother and his baby sister. He's silent and furious for weeks before he finally cracks, approaches his dad one night with his hands balled into fists at his sides and says,

"I know." Before his dad can offer any response, James goes on, "I know about her. Miranda, isn't it?"

"Oh God," his dad says, paling abruptly. "James..."

"Dad," James says, and then says it again, his eyes stinging. Damn it. He hadn't meant to cry, he wants to do this like an adult, but he can feel the moisture in his eyes threatening to spill over.

"Oh, James," his dad says, and he looks genuinely horrified, like someone has just reached into his chest and squeezed cold fingers around his heart. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't. Just - are you - leaving us?" James asks, blinking determinedly.

"No," he says, half standing as though to approach James but thinking better of it and sinking into his seat again. "Never."

"So, you - you won't - anymore," James says, almost a question.

"No. I won't. Just, don't say anything. Please."

James nods, and ignores the pause before that reply, ignores it with his whole heart.

That's a mistake.

Because when James is seventeen, he gets home from Danny's to find his mum crying and his dad gone. She hugs him tight, weeping into his shoulder and says that Harry's gone, gone with a woman called Miranda, and James knows he's never really hated, not until now.

Surely this means that it never ended. Surely it means that his dad has been lying to him all along, trying to fix their relationship on false pretences. James holds his mum as she cries and when Al and Lily tumble in from their day out with Hugo and Rose, he sends them scurrying for their rooms with a single look.

He tells them later, watches Al's face shut down with shock, hugs Lily while she sniffles into his shoulder. He wants to say that he's having nothing to do with their father again and they shouldn't either, but he keeps his mouth mostly shut, feeling something inside him harden. He is going to have to be...really fucking strong. And cold. Ice cold.

Of course, James doesn't make any decisions then and there about his career. It's the last thing on his mind right then, and he can't actually remember deciding, but by the time his NEWT year starts he is prepared. He's going to be an Advocate. It's a career he's always considered, but only very vaguely, because to hear him tell it, Advocates are the bane of his dad's life. After everything that's happened, that's not necessarily a downside anymore, and after a bit of research James is as determined as he's ever been about anything.

Theoretically, anyone who comes into involuntary contact with the Ministry has always had the right to an Advocate, to advise them, and speak on their behalf if needed. Few people used to bother, even in James's lifetime, because really, an Advocate appointed by the Ministry was little more than an Auror by the back door, and few people could afford private Advocacy. And then ten years ago, a mixed group of Ministry and private Advocates, along with various influential people they picked up along the way lobbied and harassed and finally instigated a massive shake-up of the system.

So now there are firms of Advocates across the country, and they work independently of the Ministry. The firms are linked by an overarching network called IBAS - the Independent British Advocacy Service, which ensures Advocates are available at short notice to anyone arrested anywhere in the country. It's a good job, a fairly noble one if you play it right, insofar as there's any such thing as a noble job.

And that's what James is going to do. Simple.

Lily and Al spend time with their dad, sometimes. Al is fairly apathetic about it, and Lily swings from happiness to misery so fast it makes James's head spin. James won't see his dad, though. Won't answer his letters, won't go to the Floo when he calls, certainly won't go to see the new house by the beach that he shares with Miranda.

James is in the library on a Sunday when he makes his next decision. He's not usually one for studying over the weekend unless he has to, but there's a Hogsmeade trip on, and the last two times his dad has been waiting outside Zonko's, so James has ducked out this time around.

He has the Directory of Advocates open on the desk in front of him, and he's flicking through, idly skimming the profiles of the different firms. This incarnation of the profession might be fairly new, but there is a long training period, and there are several notoriously difficult exams. It's expensive to fund solo and ideally, James is looking for a company which will train him in exchange for a work contract afterwards. From what he's read, the contracts are usually between three and seven years long, and James is eventually going to make a list of all the firms he thinks he could stand to work for that long.

Today though, he's just skimming through the Directory, absent-mindedly thinking about the day when he'll be listed in the book. Maybe even have his own company. The smallest section of the Directory lists the companies which do both private and public work, ones which are available for hire independently, as well as via the network. The section falls open about a quarter of the way in, and James looks down at the firm's name.

Edwards and Malfoy.

Huh.

He knows that Draco Malfoy is an Advocate, of course. It was pretty big news at the time, and Edwards and Malfoy is a highly respected firm these days. James remembers his uncle Ron saying that if there's anyone who knows how to wriggle out of legal charges it's Malfoy. There'd been quite a lot of self-righteous anger at the firm's inception by all accounts, not alleviated much by the fact that the Edwards in question was a Muggleborn.

James can feel the cool thrum of excitement already because holy shit. If he pulls this off, his dad will go mad. There can't be a single job in the world he'd want James to do less than being taught how to thwart Auror arrest warrants by Draco Malfoy. He skims the Company History section and sits back in his chair, trying not to be disheartened. Most firms of Advocates take on two or three trainees a year, depending on the size of the firm. Edwards and Malfoy have taken on three in the last five years.

Still, if what he's heard is true, Mr. Malfoy might hire James for no other reason than to annoy Harry. If it's not true, then hopefully he'll be impressed enough with James's OWLs (mostly Os, two Es, and an A) and his predicted NEWTs (five Os) to give him a chance. People are always a bit surprised by James's grades, like he should be stupid or something. The truth is that he likes school. And he's really thrown himself into it, this year especially. He has plans.

James knows his mum doesn't trust Mr. Malfoy and because he's not an idiot and his mum usually isn't either, James takes it upon himself to find out why. He already knows the basics – the historical facts, if you like, but he needs details. Luckily his Uncle Ron has never been too close-lipped when it comes to Malfoys and their failings.

So yeah, James knows the truth, and it's horrible. But people change, don't they? The war was a long time ago, and God knows James's dad isn't the same man he once was.

James works for hours, possibly even days on his application form and written accompaniment, refining his covering letter countless times until it is as close to perfect as it's ever going to be. His heart is still in his throat when he sends it off, and it's only then that he realises just how much he wants this job.

He doesn't hear anything other than a standard receipt of his application, and before James knows it, NEWTs are over. School is over, and he has no definite plans on what to do next. It's not a good feeling. He's been accepted to two other firms, one on a five year contract and one on a six year, and he thinks he'll probably take the five year one, although he's not that excited by either offer.

Add to that the fact that his dad will be meeting Al and Lily off the train, and James is in a foul mood by the time the Express pulls into King's Cross. They're going away with him for a couple of days. James wasn't asked. Which is...fine, really. It's what he wants. For his dad to stop trying, to just accept that James is out of his life for good. So now it's more like 'me and my dad don't speak' than 'I'm not speaking to my dad' and that's fine, it's great. James would just rather not have to see him.

He loses Danny on the crowded platform, and has just decided to grab his things and Apparate home when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Expecting maybe his uncle Ron, and dreading it being his dad, James turns warily and blinks when he sees Mr. Malfoy standing before him. His son Scorpius (Ravenclaw, quiet, maybe a bit shy, and that's the extent of James's knowledge) is standing a little way away with his trunk, looking bored.

"James Potter," Mr. Malfoy says, and it's not quite a question.

"Uh - yes," James says anyway.

"Draco Malfoy," he says, offering his hand. James shakes it mechanically. "Pending an interview, which I'm sure will be successful, I'd like to offer you the internship with a full term training post to follow if your NEWTs are up to scratch."

It's all said so casually that James can't process the actual content for a moment, just frowning stupidly until it sinks in.

"Thank you!" he chokes out, and Mr. Malfoy looks at him with an appraising eye.

"You were easily the best applicant we've had in the last two years, Potter," he says coolly, his voice somehow dismissing James's gratitude. "I will owl you with details of the interview time. It will be some time in the next two weeks, so I suggest you fit the post-exam partying into the next few days."

"Oh - er. Yes, sir. Thank you. Again."

"I will be in touch," Mr. Malfoy nods, turning away, and James just stares, not sure if that really happened or not.

Smiling a little, James grabs his trunk by the handle and drags it a little way from the throng of people, not wanting to give anyone concussion as he Apparates. Ha, he thinks, a bit dazedly. Ha.

A hand falls on his shoulder again, and for an absurd moment, he thinks it might be Mr. Malfoy again. Instead he turns his head to see his dad, and shies away from the touch instinctively.

"What?" he asks brusquely, hand tightening on his trunk.

"What were you talking to Malfoy about?" his dad asks, no beating around the bush, and James looks past him.

"None of your business."

"James – "

"I'm going to work for him," James says, and oh yeah. The slight double take, the momentary flash of shock on his dad's face... That feels good.

"James..."

"Gotta go, Danny's waiting," James says, and it's a complete lie, but he doesn't care even a bit.

The interview is a success. Apparently. James barely remembers anything afterwards. He knows he answered the questions, and must have answered them well, but. He's mostly pretty blank.

It's not like he didn't concentrate at the time, because he knows he did, and when he really tries, he can remember the questions, remember the gist of his answers. It's just that Mr. Malfoy's office, the whole place, but his office in particular, is the calmest place James has ever been.

"James," his mum says at one point, wariness evident in her tone. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yes," James says honestly, closing the law book he's reading around his finger, keeping his page safe.

"You don't – you don't need to resent your father on my behalf," she says hesitantly.

"That's not what I'm doing, mum," James says, closing his book properly and looking at her seriously. "And if I resent him, it's because he left us just as much as he left you, whether he sees it that way or not."

"Jamie..." she sighs.

"That's got nothing to do with the job, anyway," James says. And while that's a lie, it's rapidly becoming the truth. "Mr. Malfoy's...interesting. I'm learning a lot."

He's learning a hell of a lot. About the law. About how shot full of holes it is. About how the Aurors, who are supposed to serve the law above all else, are more likely to serve the interpretation of it which best fits their purposes.

Mr. Edwards is a lot older than Mr. Malfoy and takes the view that if Mr. Malfoy is fool enough to hire a trainee, then the trainee is his responsibility. James doesn't mind that at all, no more than he minds the distance the other Advocates at the firm maintain. It means that the majority of his interactions at work are with Mr. Malfoy, and working with the older man, listening to him talk is...amazing. Terrifying.

It's like having his whole world turned upside down, like everything that was confusing makes sense, and everything that was clear is up for question. James knows he's clever, but that doesn't mean he always finds it easy to be clever. He has instincts for some things - Potions and sound arguments, mainly - but other than that, James has had to teach himself to think. To consider and evaluate alternatives, not to just go with the first thing that makes sense. It's never been mentioned or even implied, but James feels like Mr. Malfoy is teaching him to craft a thinking space inside his head, making him think harder and faster than he ever has before. It's exhilarating.

The thing is, Mr. Malfoy is also...he's just amazing. It's the only word James can find for the man, but it's not nearly good enough, and James can't lie to himself. It's...hero-worship, James supposes, which is... Alright, it's a bit embarrassing to be so tongue-tied at 18 because someone is clever and handsome and strong and successful. It's also fucking hilarious, in a way, given who they are, the history between their families.

He is dangerously close to being so wrapped up in Mr. Malfoy that he's distracted from his work. Because the man is just... He is stunning, and intelligent, calmly authoritative, impeccable and in control. It's only a few days in that James finds himself thinking about Mr. Malfoy when he gets home, when he's in bed, when he's touching himself. He imagines the voice a lot, the cool, crisply certain voice that he hears talking about legal precedent and plausible deniability. He imagines it saying all kinds of other things, and while the job and the training are still brilliant, it becomes more and more awkward to work near Mr. Malfoy, no matter how hard James tries to ignore all the little things about the man that make him ache.

A couple of weeks into the internship – mostly glorified filing at the moment, but at least the files are interesting - James starts worrying. There was a question about interactions with salamander eggs on the Potions theory exam, and he can't remember his answer in enough detail to be sure if he classified the three-way interaction effects by subtype. NEWT results are due in a fortnight or so, and James isn't sleeping too well. If everything goes well - four Os and an E well - then he will start attending more formal training, and he is desperate to do it. Because he has to keep this job. He just has to.

He's never met anyone like Mr. Malfoy before. At home, even before his dad left, everything was chaotic. Most of the time it's lovingly chaotic, and most of the time James appreciates it. But he has never, never met anyone with such perfect self-control, such complete and utter confidence as Mr. Malfoy. It's like he is always completely certain. No doubts, no second thoughts, just this incredible poise. It makes James realise that he doesn't need to be this crazy, impulsive hot-head, he can be cool and distant and calm. He can be tough but he can be quietly tough, steel folded in on itself.

Things do go well, better than James has dared to imagine, five straight Os. His mum flips, acts as though he's just been made Minister for Magic. His dad sends a card and makes a couple of Floo calls that James deliberately misses. He can't wait to get into work.

He shows Mr. Malfoy the letter, watches him read it expressionlessly before he rolls it into a scroll again and hands it back.

"Excellent work," he says, and James smiles hugely as Mr. Malfoy turns in his chair, picks up a piece of parchment from a tray and signs it at the bottom. "Formal training," he says, glancing up at James. "You'll start next week, all day Monday, Wednesday afternoons, and Friday mornings." He taps the letter, producing a copy, and passes both sheets to James, along with his results. "Keep one, it has your timetable. Owl the other to the address shown."

"Yes, sir," James nods, standing to head for the door.

"James," Mr. Malfoy calls and James turns.

"Sir?"

"If anything comes up during your training that you wish to discuss, my door is always open."

"Thank you, sir," James nods.

"And James?"

"Yes?"

"I'm impressed. Those are excellent results," he says and James smiles.

"Thanks, sir," he says, and his voice sounds chirpy even to his own ears.

The formal training is intense in a way school never was. The format of the sessions varies from week to week. Sometimes there are almost fifty people there, and it's like History of Magic class all over again but longer, and much more difficult. Sometimes it's small group sessions where they discuss previous cases, and sometimes it's one on one, arguing a theoretical case with one of the trainers, usually acting thoroughly belligerently. It swings between being James's favourite and most hated part of the day.

The thrill when he gets it right, realises that he's at the start of the train of argument that will finish this, is pretty much incomparable. But it's hard as hell, and sometimes James loses sight of the names and dates he needs, ends up floundering. It happens less and less as time goes on, and James finds that true to his word, Mr. Malfoy is always available. They debate similar cases, but instead of pouncing on James's mistakes like an Auror would, Mr. Malfoy quietly points out the holes in his argument, nods when James fills them in, sometimes gives him this quietly impressed look.

It's late. Later than he's ever stayed at work before, but Draco has a big private case coming involving one of the biggest Potions importers on the market, and James has been going through pages and pages of payment and order forms, sorting them by date, and then by amount, and then cross referencing them.

When he finishes his eyes feel gritty and his back aches as he stands but at least it's finished. It feels like a victory. He starts to pull on his cloak and then glances at Mr. Malfoy's office. The glass in the windows is opaque at the moment, but the lights inside are clearly visible. Dropping his cloak onto the back of his chair, James walks towards the office and knocks lightly on the door.

"Come in."

James opens the door and steps into the office, pushing the door to behind him. He gets the shock of his life when he looks up, because Mr. Malfoy has shed his usual traditional robes. Instead he's wearing a pristine white shirt, collar and cuffs unbuttoned, sleeves neatly turned up to his elbows, revealing milk-white skin, and in spite of the stacks of work on the desk he looks more relaxed than James has ever seen him.

"I, uh," James says, momentarily struck dumb. "I'm done."

"Well done," Mr. Malfoy says, leaning back in his chair and setting his quill down - exactly parallel with his parchment without even looking, James notices, as though perfection is nothing more than a reflex for Draco Malfoy. "Would you like a drink?" he offers, and James almost misses the question, he's so caught up in that thought.

"Okay," he agrees, as soon as he catches up. Mr. Malfoy stands, stretching languorously. The movement tugs his collar aside momentarily, and James finds his eyes riveted to the triangle of skin revealed, awkwardly snapping his eyes upward when Mr. Malfoy coughs. James can feel himself blushing, but Mr. Malfoy just gives a small smile, turning away to a cabinet on the wall behind his desk.

"Brandy?" Mr. Malfoy asks, holding a bottle towards James for his approval.

"Thanks," James nods, although he doesn't think he's ever had it before. He normally drinks beer, Firewhiskey on occasion and... James's thoughts crash to a halt because that...that is very definitely the Dark Mark on the soft-looking skin of Mr. Malfoy's forearm. It's faded to ash grey, but there's no mistaking it and...well. It should probably scare James, or disgust him but he is...intrigued.

Hell, he's beyond intrigued. He wants to touch it, trace its foreboding shape with his fingertips, feel if those grey markings are shiny-smooth like scar tissue, or rough like something else, or if they blend seamlessly with the rest of the skin around them.

Mr. Malfoy clears his throat again, and James realises he's been caught staring again. Mr. Malfoy doesn't smile this time, just gives him a cool, distant look as he hands James a glass, sets the other on the desk, and starts to roll down his sleeves.

"Don't," James blurts, and Mr. Malfoy raises an eyebrow. "I mean – you don't have to. It doesn't bother me."

"It really doesn't," Mr. Malfoy says after a moment, sounding slightly surprised. James shakes his head. There's pause, and then Mr. Malfoy moves from behind the desk to one of the two soft, overstuffed-looking armchairs, waving James towards the other.

James sinks down into it, cradling the glass Mr. Malfoy handed him carefully. It looks like crystal, and together with the generous measure of brandy inside, it's probably worth more than anything James owns.

"How are you finding it here?" Mr. Malfoy asks.

"Good," James says before he can stop himself because, really. What a pathetic, asinine thing to say. "I feel like I'm learning a lot," he forces himself to go on, and damn it, that's not much better.

"I feel like you are, too," Mr. Malfoy says and James wonders if he's being teased. The doubt obviously shows on his face because Mr. Malfoy goes on, "You're doing very well, James. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," James says, dragging his eyes up from the depths of his glass to look at Mr. Malfoy. "That means a lot, sir."

Then...there is this moment, James is sure of it. They look at each other for a few long drawn out seconds, and then Mr. Malfoy looks away. He leans back in his chair, glass dangling from his fingertips in a way James is sure would result in smashed crystal if he was to try it himself. Stripped of his formal robes, Mr. Malfoy looks a lot younger, and he's surprisingly slender, long legs crossed over one another as they sprawl in front of him, his free hand on the arm of the chair, fingertips tapping a rhythm onto the upholstery.

"Can I ask you something?" he says, and James licks his suddenly dry lips.

"Of course," he nods.

"Why did you want this job?"

For a moment, James considers a half-truth about helping people, but decides against it.

"I didn't have a real burning desire to do anything in particular," he says honestly. "I'm interested in the law, but I think it's ridiculous a lot of the time. I like...debating, and I like to criticise things I think are wrong. This job, it...it suits me. For all sorts of different reasons."

"Interesting," Mr. Malfoy says. "But not what I meant. Why here?"

Damn. In all honesty, that's what James thought he meant the first time, he's just not over keen to answer that one. He finds himself replying anyway though, because apparently he can't not give Mr. Malfoy an honest response.

"Would you believe," he asks carefully, "that it started as a way to annoy my dad?"

It feels like a stupid thing to say as soon as the words are out, so James isn't expecting Mr. Malfoy's response. He pauses for a moment, a devilish smirk growing on his face and then he laughs, a proper laugh like James has never heard from him before. It sounds great.

"You're a man after my own heart, James Potter," Mr. Malfoy says and James can't help beaming at that because, damn. It feels like the most meaningful praise he's ever received. "Did it work?" Mr. Malfoy asks, and James shrugs.

"Hard to say. We don't see much of each other, but I'm pretty sure it did."

"Well, I'll drink to that," Mr. Malfoy says, tilting his glass towards James's in a toast. "Glad to be of service," he adds, and it's James's turn to laugh. They fall into the most comfortable silence James has ever known, and he sips more brandy, takes the opportunity to stare around the office. He's been in here plenty of times before, but always sitting face to face with Mr. Malfoy across the desk, discussing work. Now he takes the chance to look around, to try to make out the titles of the books that line two full walls.

"It's not just that though," James says a while later. "Not anymore. I like how you do things here."

"Hmm," Mr. Malfoy murmurs, finishing off his brandy. "Is that the only thing you like?" he asks, so casually that James thinks he's misheard the question for a minute.

"I - uh - no," James stutters, and there is another, decidedly less comfortable silence. It seems to stretch forever, long enough for James to start panicking, to think I am definitely fired.

"Another drink?" Mr. Malfoy asks, and he leans in, and James thinks holy shit, but Mr. Malfoy just plucks the glass from James's fingers and gets to his feet, heading for his desk and the bottle of brandy. Before he gets there, James is on his feet, following him, not a single conscious thought involved in the process. Mr. Malfoy turns, stops, and James keeps moving until they're close. Really close, James can't believe how close. He can see individual lashes around those grey eyes, can see a tiny, faded scar near his left ear. Oh, God.

"Mr. Malfoy," James says, his voice a weak, shuddering thing he barely recognises. "Sir..."

"Stop," Mr. Malfoy says, hands falling to James's shoulders, holding him at arm's length. This time around, the pause isn't long enough for him to panic, before Mr. Malfoy goes on, "If we're going to - if you want to do this, you should probably call me Draco."

"Yeah. Okay," James says, and he has to stop himself nodding and grinning like an idiot. "I do want," James says fervently. "I want - D-Draco. I really want..."

"Shh," Mr. Malfoy - Draco - purrs, one hand resting flat on James's chest, urging him around until he's up against the desk. James looks round guiltily at the tell-tale rustle of papers sliding to the floor, but Draco turns his face forward again, two long fingers pressed to James's jaw.

James doesn't know what he's expecting, not really, but he knows he'd never have anticipated the long, searching look Draco gives him, nor the soft, chaste kiss. He gasps at the simple press of closed lips on his own and Draco shifts, resting his forehead against James's for a moment before kissing him again. This kiss...this kiss is everything James has wanted and more. Draco's mouth is hot, demanding, hungry, and before James knows it he is sitting shirtless on the desk and Mr. Malfoy – God, Draco – is standing between his legs, eyes darting all over James's face.

"I want you so much," James says. "I think about you - " All the time.

"You are," he says, palm cupping James's cheek, pad of his thumb drifting over the vulnerable skin below James's eye. "Incredible."

The words alone are enough to send shockwaves rattling through James, and when Draco follows them with a long, demanding kiss, his palms fitted close over James's shoulder-blades, James can't help a little moan of pure desire. He wraps his legs around Draco's hips, pulling him in tight, and turns his face up for another kiss. Instead Draco peels off his own shirt and then places his palm on James's chest again, pushing him gently backwards. James goes easily, shivering at the contrasting textures of paper and wood against his back.

"I knew it," Draco says, looking down at James, hands working smoothly to undo James's belt.

"Knew...?" James echoes dumbly.

"Knew you'd be," Draco says, fingers grazing over James's stomach, "Exquisite."

James closes his eyes, gives himself up utterly because this... Draco has wanted this, thought about this, thought about James, naked and willing and completely his.

"Please," James breathes, and he's asking for something, everything, anything.

Draco strips their clothes away with perfect ease, pausing only to cast a few wards on the room. James can't take his eyes off Draco even for a second. He is lean and lightly muscled, perfect and pale, apart from where there are scars on his upper back and chest, and one on his left thigh. In the same way as the Dark Mark, James wants to touch them, feel their texture with his fingers or his tongue. In the end he manages to do both, and he doesn't think he'll ever be able to look at Draco's desk the same way after he falls apart on top of it, white-knuckled grip on the edges while Draco systematically drives him completely mad with pleasure.

Afterwards, when James is dressing with shaky fingers, he realises that he has no idea what that meant, beyond the obvious (because sex is sex is sex, right?). He can't imagine that he'll be lucky enough for it to happen again until Draco tilts his chin up and kisses him slowly.

"See you tomorrow," he says, and there's something different in his voice now, in the way he looks at James, and it sets off this crazy squirming feeling in his stomach that shouldn't be nearly as pleasurable as it is. Tomorrow sounds so damn promising, but -

"I've got training in the afternoon," James realises, his heart sinking.

"Come by afterwards. Around six," Draco says, and James nods unhesitatingly.

It's easy, James is surprised by that. They stay late after work a couple of times a week at first but somehow a couple of times a week becomes every chance they get. In Draco's office, when everyone's gone home for the night, and no one will be showing up until the next day. Draco casts wards on the room, the office doesn't feel just calm anymore, it feels like the safest place James has ever been, which is ridiculous, given what they're doing.

And what they're doing is...is... James is no stranger to sex, and to pleasure. He's had a few random one-offs, and one fairly serious boyfriend at school, for the best part of a year. But this – he's never felt like this, never even considered the possibility of feeling like this. Sometimes it's all he can do to get through to the evening without gravitating towards Draco. He wants to be close to him all the time, pressed tight against him, wants to kiss him and touch him.

And it's not just a one-way thing, that's what makes James's head spin the most. Draco is just as eager as James, and more than once James has found a little rip or a missing button on his robes when he gets home. The doors shut, the wards go up, and it's like something snaps between them, some carefully crafted restraint that's been keeping them at a safe distance all day crumbles and they are on each other within seconds.

James is swept away. Knowingly, consciously, willingly swept away.

"We can do anything you want, you know," Draco murmurs one night. "Within reason."

"This is good," James smiles, turning his face into Draco's neck. Draco laughs, stroking his hand through James's hair.

"It's very good," he agrees. "But there must be something else you want."

"Huh?" James asks, genuinely confused.

"What would you like to do?" Draco asks slowly, a hint of exasperation in his tone.

"Anything?" James asks.

"Give me a starting point, and I'll try to make it happen," Draco says.

James is quiet for a moment, thinking quickly.

"I'd like to go out somewhere with you," he says eventually. "I know it'd be difficult, but..." he shrugs. "I'd like that."

"Right..." Draco says.

"And maybe," James blurts. "Spend the night. Somewhere."

"That's what you want?" Draco asks after a long silence and James shifts around to look up at him.

"Uh. Yes?" he ventures uncertainly. There's another silence and James feels strangely, indefinably irritated. "Is that wrong?"

"No, it's not wrong," Draco scoffs, tugging on a lock of James's hair. "Just unusual. Most people would... I'm a rich man, James," he says matter-of-factly.

"Right," James nods. "Buy me diamonds."

"Emerald or princess cut?" Draco asks seriously after a second, and James looks up at him incredulously. Draco laughs, full on laughs, and James grins, thinking that it's rapidly becoming his favourite sound in the world.

"I suppose I'm not most people," he says when Draco has sobered.

"Apparently not," Draco agrees, sliding a finger under his chin and tilting him up into a kiss.

James is finishing up a report at his desk a few nights later when he feels Draco's hands on his shoulders. He laughs and drops his quill when Draco turns his chair around smoothly. James had been unable to resist charming it to spin. As soon as James is facing him, Draco moves closer, straddling James's lap and pulling him into a hot, biting kiss.

"Where would you like to go?" Draco asks when he moves back, and James blinks.

"Sorry?"

"You said you wanted to go out. Where?"

"I don't - I've no idea. Pub, maybe?" James suggests, wrapping his arms around Draco. Draco just raises one eyebrow and James ducks his head, chuckling. "Right, okay," he agrees. "Maybe for a meal?"

"That could be arranged," Draco nods. "Is there anything you don't eat?"

"Er... I don't like shellfish," James says uncertainly, still feeling slightly wrong-footed.

"So no oysters and champagne?" Draco teases.

"Beer and chips?" James suggests.

"Do I really," Draco starts, kissing James's throat, "Strike you as the beer and chips type?"

"N-no," James admits, arching his neck to give Draco better access.

"Compromise it is, then," Draco says. "I'll find somewhere. Thursday."

"Alright," James agrees breathlessly, lost to the feeling of Draco's hands sliding beneath his robes, Draco's weight pressing him into the chair.

On Thursday, Draco tells James to bring smart Muggle clothes to work with him and he does, slipping away after everyone has left work to change into a sober looking suit. He spends so long fighting with his tie that by the time he gets back to the main office Draco is waiting for him, and James thinks there's a very good chance he might just die then and there. Because Draco in a suit is... He can't believe he never thought about it before. He'd presumed they'd be going to a Muggle place because he doubts there's enough money in the world to buy the kind of discretion they'd need from a wizarding establishment, he'd just never followed that presumption to the obvious conclusion of Draco in a perfectly tailored suit.

Slightly tongue-tied, James follows Draco out of the office, around the corner and into a Muggle black taxi. He doesn't hear what Draco says to the driver because he's just - he's been on edge all day, almost too much anticipation buzzing around inside his head, and now he's here and it's happening, they're going to go out. And James is excited, of course he is, but he's a tiny bit terrified too. All it would take would be one person recognising either of them. London's a big place, but given all the major wizarding institutions based in the city, a relatively high number of witches and wizards pass through on a daily basis. James knows that it's unlikely, but there's nothing to stop one of them going to the same Muggle restaurant as he and Draco and then -

Then they will be colleagues discussing a case over dinner, James realises belatedly, feeling foolish. He's sure Draco has already thought of that, probably didn't even need to think, it's so obvious. It's not as though they'll be holding hands over the table - in fact, the thought alone is ridiculous enough that James has to stifle a laugh. Even if that was an option, it's not the point of the night anyway. James doesn't know what Draco can possibly be getting from it (unless it's in giving James something he wants which is just...it's too big for James to think about right now), but for James, it's simple. He wants to know that he's not just Draco's office option. Not just a convenient young body, but someone Draco will socialise with and talk to, and maybe even respect as something other than a budding professional.

The taxi stops outside a small Italian restaurant near a more houseboats-and-dinner-parties than shopping-trolleys-and-beer-cans part of the river, and James grins. Okay so it's not chips and beer, but you can't go far wrong with meatballs and spaghetti either. They're not even through the door before James realises it's not a mum's spagbol sort of place. There are fewer tables than any restaurant James has ever seen before, and each one is positioned to be as out-of-sight from the others as possible. There are a handful of booths too, roughly cut dark oak panels, deep red seats. James can't help feeling underdressed when a ridiculously smart waiter - that James thinks is called a maitre d' - shows them to a booth, returning seconds later with a jug of iced water and a wine list. Draco glances at the list for about half a second before ordering something James has never heard of before and couldn't hope to pronounce.

For a few minutes, James thinks this is going to be a nightmare because he abruptly feels like an uncultured, uneducated idiot, and wonders desperately just what Draco sees in him. Lacking any other ideas, James pours them both a glass of water and passes one across the table to Draco who takes it with a smile that makes James feel instantly better. A bottle of red wine arrives, and James takes a doubtful sip of the glass the waiter pours for him, pleasantly surprised by the flavour. It's very strong, a little strange, but James can taste fruit and smoke, a smooth burn of alcohol beneath it all.

They order their food, and James is faintly amazed at how easily the conversation flows between them. They talk about everything and nothing, and even though Draco laughs at James a lot, it's a soft intimate kind of laughter that makes James feel anything but mocked. It's brilliant, the best James has felt in ages and it only gets better when Draco lays a hand on his shoulder as they leave the restaurant, just guiding him, but James would like to imagine it looks possessive, that it's Draco's claim on him, openly staked. They kiss goodbye in the car park behind the building, and James really, really... God, he can't believe his luck.

James loves his mum a lot, and they've always been close. Danny and their other friends call him a Mummy's boy sometimes, but James just laughs it off. He doesn't mind people knowing that he cares about his mum. She's been through a lot, and besides, she's strong and she loves him, and she's never let him down.

And sometimes this thing with Draco makes it hard for James to meet her eyes, and he hates that. Because James knows exactly what she'd think. She'd be so ashamed, not to mention discovering whole new types of anger. Because when he's at home James feels the sting of the whole truth. He's cheating – and okay maybe, technically, Draco's doing the cheating, but James knows, and that makes him just as bad. And he knows. He knows what cheating does to people, what it does to families.

He also knows that unless he has to, he isn't going to stop. Draco is too special, too different from anything James has ever known before, for James to even contemplate giving him up. So he can't stop with Draco, and he can't bear to come back to his mum's house after some of the things they do. He's been thinking about it for a while, but when he ends up sleeping in Teddy's spare room for the third time in a week because he can still feel Draco's hands on him, James knows it's time to get somewhere of his own. Somewhere he can feel more at home, somewhere he can feel less guilty.

It takes a couple of months to scrape together the deposit, but he finds a place. Danny helps him move in to the one bedroom flat, and they spend a whole weekend partying and being stupid, either on their own or with other friends from school. When Danny finally goes back to the flat he shares with his brother and James gets around to unpacking boxes, the place feels almost like home. He still goes back to his mum's house fairly regularly for dinner, or Sunday lunch, but as he expected, it's a lot easier to be with Draco when he's going home to his own place, rather than hiding out for hours before he dares to go back to his mum's. James isn't an idiot, he knows that moving away from home doesn't actually change the situation in the slightest. He should still feel just as guilty, because Draco is still married, James is still doing something he knows is wrong.

It roils in his guts at unexpected times, when he's out with friends, or at home alone. He feels almost sick sometimes, with the weight of what they're doing. Never when he's with Draco, though. Draco makes it all seem worth it, and James can't help trusting his impeccable control to steer them through this.

Of course it's not perfect. There are times when arrangements fall through, when James finds himself unexpectedly alone in the evenings, and can't stop thinking. James tries, really tries not to think about the fact that Draco has a family. That he is sleeping with someone's husband. Someone's father.

They never discuss it, but James thinks Draco knows that sometimes James struggles with the facts of the situation. He makes it as easy for James as he possibly can, because Draco is pure professionalism. He is Draco Malfoy the Advocate at work, and he is James's lover whenever he can find the time, and James doesn't really get to know anything other than those two facets of the man. And James knows, he knows how that sounds. How it is.

He never thought that something like this – scraps of someone else's relationship, the attention and affection that can be spared – would be enough for him. Scraps of Draco's attention, though? God, yeah. That's enough.

He says these things to James. Things like: you're beautiful, you're perfect. And James knows it isn't true, but he believes it anyway.

James gets home from his formal training one Wednesday evening feeling exhausted. He jumps in the shower straight away and changes into jeans and a t-shirt, falling down onto the sofa and sighing contentedly. As he stretches, he glances at the clock. Half past five. Draco should be finishing up with the IBAS representative he's meeting soon, James realises, and the idea grabs him before he can stop it.

It's probably a bit risky, but Draco had been out of the office all day Tuesday, James was training all day Monday, and they'd not managed to steal any time since Thursday last week. Even that was only half an hour, because Draco had to be home for something. (James didn't ask what, never does, doesn't want to know.) He gives it another fifteen minutes before he shoves his feet into battered running shoes and Apparates to the front of the building. He lets himself in through the wards and pads through the mostly dark outer office.

Yes, James thinks. He is brilliant. Because Draco is just finishing up, shaking the woman by the hand as they stand before the Floo.

"Sorry, Mr. Malfoy, ma'am," James says. "I left my wallet."

He turns away, starts rummaging through his desk drawers, and he doesn't turn back even when he hears the Floo roar into life, and Draco locking it behind the woman. A few seconds after that, he feels Draco step up behind him, warm solid weight against his back.

"Forgot your wallet?" he asks, sharp flicker of his tongue on James's earlobe.

"Yes," James lies breathlessly, and Draco laughs, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down James's neck.

"I want you so much," Draco growls, his hands underneath James's t-shirt, pressing against his stomach and ribs.

"You – " James says shakily. "You know I'm yours."

And shit, James had not meant to say that at all. Just because something's true, doesn't mean you have to say it out loud. Draco's mouth goes still on James's skin and the grip of his hands soften until he's almost cuddling James, holding him close but gentle-close, not got-an-agenda-close.

"I know," Draco says quietly, turning James around to look at him. "Did you come back here for this?" Draco asks, and James nods wordlessly. Draco closes his eyes for a second before he pulls James closer, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to his lips. "Can you come somewhere with me?" he asks. "Now?"

James almost laughs because, really. He can't believe Draco thinks he even has to ask.

"Yes," he says, although he thinks it's likely that his answer is written all over his face. "Anywhere," he adds, just in case.

"Good," Draco says. Then, "Okay," as if he's nervous, of all things. He kisses James once then Apparates, holding him tight. James blinks around at the room they appear in before Draco kisses him again.

"Where are we?" James asks.

"Does it matter?" Draco asks, looking at him. "Come here," he breathes, and James steps closer, until he can feel the heat rising off Draco's body, the sweet rush of breath over his face. James's heart is pounding in his chest and he doesn't get this at all. It's not as though he was a blushing virgin when he met Draco, but that's the way he feels. Like his hands are too big, too clumsy, like his skin is too hot and tight. Like he doesn't know what to do.

He lifts his hands to the clasp on Draco's robes, undoing it and pulling the expensive material away from his shoulders. Draco watches his face with unwavering eyes and James isn't sure what to do with the robes. He moves to fold them but Draco just plucks them from his hands and drops them to the floor. Draco's hands close around his and he leads James slowly through to a good sized bedroom, dominated by a large bed, made up with crisp white linens.

James's clothes seem to evaporate in the wake of Draco's hands before Draco pushes him down onto the bed - bed, James thinks a little wildly, they're doing this in a bed - and kisses along the line of his throat, to the underside of his jaw. James groans impatiently, clutches at Draco's back and glares when Draco laughs.

"We've got ages," he says and James looks up at him, suddenly wide-eyed. Draco's voice just then was about the sexiest thing James has ever heard. Full of promise and intent, pitched low and rough, the words breathed out against James's skin

"I want you," James says. "Want you so much, want to feel you."

"Yes," Draco agrees, kissing James's mouth open, hands flowing like water over his body.

Afterwards, James feels wrung out, raw and reinvented as though it was something a lot more than sex, something that left him exposed and vulnerable, something that turned him into someone he's not sure he knows. It feels a little bit amazing when Draco just pulls James to him, holding him close, showing no signs of wanting to move - or leave.

"So...where are we?" James asks again a little while later, fingers tracing an idle pattern on the sheets.

"Mayfair," Draco says. "I have a flat."

"Right," James says a little vaguely, closing his eyes.

And of course, James can't help wondering at that, just a bit. How many other people has Draco fucked in this flat? But the bit on the side, the other man, he doesn't get to ask those kinds of questions, surely? He can't help thinking, though... Draco is very good at this, at sneaking around, finding time in the day for James even though he has a family, and a job, and an estate to run. It's like he's an expert at (and James can hardly stand to think of it like this, to lower it to this, but it's the truth) adultery and getting away with it.

"What?" Draco asks, as though he can hear James thinking.

"Nothing," James says. "I just...I like it here," he shrugs, and as he says it, he realises it's not a lie. He does like it here, in Draco's arms, in Draco's bed. He likes it almost enough to push the questions away, certainly enough to quiet them a little.

"I should hope so," Draco drawls, glancing pointedly at the rumpled sheets and the pillow on the floor that James doesn't want to even think about right now.

"Not in bed," he protests. "I mean, obviously, yes in bed. And for the record: wow. But just. I like being here. With you."

"I like being here with you, too, James," Draco says softly.

A few weeks later, they are sitting in Draco's desk chair, James still slumped bonelessly in Draco's lap, pressing kisses to his sweaty skin. Draco leans over, making James tilt precariously on his lap and have to grab hold of him. Draco opens the top desk drawer and pulls something out of it, passing it wordlessly to James who looks down at the simple silver bracelet in his hand, unsure what to make of it.

"It has - " Draco says. "It's for protection."

"Protection from what?" James blinks, and Draco takes the bracelet back from him, hooking it neatly around his wrist. It opens on a hinge, a tiny safety chain holding it closed, fitting snugly on his wrist. It has a lustrous shine, and James turns his hand a little, looking at it.

"All sorts of things. It'll also let you through the wards to the flat; you can go there whenever you want."

Oh God. That's obviously the real present, and James feels something flip over inside his chest. Even though he already knows he won't go to the flat without Draco, the gesture, the idea that he could, that he's allowed to, that he's the only one who's allowed to, is immense. It makes it feel (and James knows, he knows this is a dangerous way to think) like their flat.

They Apparate from the office into the kitchen of the flat and James starts kissing Draco as soon as they arrive. It's been several days and he is so hungry, so eager for the taste and feel of Draco's body. They fuck right there, James bent over the table, Draco mouthing at his spine, pressed so tight and perfect against James.

Afterwards, when James can trust his legs to take his weight he turns around and kisses Draco, stumbling a little as he tries to lead Draco to the bedroom. They make it there eventually and fall to the bed in a messy heap. Draco looks up at James almost curiously as he presses Draco down into the mattress and kisses his shoulder, licks a winding path down his chest to suck at one nipple. When Draco reaches for James's hair, fingers diving deep into it, James can just see one curve of the Dark Mark from the corner of his eye.

Changing tactics, he plants a neat line of kisses down Draco's chest, his hand closing around Draco's bicep, then sliding down until his palm is fitted against the Mark. It doesn't feel any different from the surrounding skin and James doesn't realise he's stopped moving until Draco clears his throat.

"You have the strangest fixations," he says dryly, and James jerks his head up, unsure if he should be embarrassed or not. There's no judgement in Draco's eyes though, just that same curiosity from earlier. Carefully, warily, James shifts his fingertips against the Mark, kisses Draco's collarbone. "Is there something you would like to say?" Draco asks, and James shakes his head.

"No," he says, and then moving his hand more purposefully over the Mark, reconsiders. "Actually, yes. Fuck me. Again."

Draco chuckles, running his hand through James's hair.

"In a little while," he promises, and that's good enough for James, who reaches up and presses a kiss to Draco's mouth. "I - mmm," Draco murmurs against James's lips before gently pushing him away. "I have to make some Floo calls, stay out of sight."

"Okay," James nods, falling back into the sheets, watching Draco neaten his appearance and leave the room.

A few moments later, he hears the rumble of Draco's voice from the other room, and he doesn't need to make out the words to know it's work-related. Draco's voice changes somehow when he's discussing professional matters, and James lets the tone soothe him for a few minutes. After that he gets a bit distracted, shoving away the clothes that he didn't quite get rid of earlier and then kicking the sheets down to the end of the bed before sprawling back against pillows that smell like Draco.

It feels amazingly decadent to lie there like that, on doubtlessly expensive sheets, hopelessly, obviously rumpled, naked except for Draco's bracelet. Idly, he runs one hand down over his stomach, cool metal around his wrist shocking against his hot skin, fingers rubbing over coarse hair before dropping lower, teasing himself gently. It's not long before he's stroking himself slowly, biting his lower lip until it feels swollen and raw between his teeth.

"James?" he hears a little later. "Are you still in the bedroom? I have to - go," Draco finishes a bit lamely, stopping in the doorway.

"Yeah?" James asks, arching his hips up to meet his hand.

"Damn it, James," Draco groans, and James can't help a little whimper at the noise, moving his hand further down, fingertips teasing. "I really have to go."

"Okay," James murmurs, tilting his hips upward, reaching, pushing. "I'll let mys- uhh - myself out when I'm done," he offers and Draco groans again, already pulling at his clothes.

"Half an hour," he offers, knocking James's hand away from his body before replacing it with his own.

"Okay," James says again, spreading his legs around Draco's half-clothed body, rutting up against him shamelessly.

That little extra bit of time, that extra half hour feels like such a victory, and James revels in every second of Draco's skin against his, Draco's hands firm around his wrists, Draco's mouth hot over his own.

It's inevitable, really. The further James gets into his formal training, the more serious the crimes he's able to deal with, or at least shadow while Draco deals with them. And of course, the more serious the crime, the more likely it is to be under the jurisdiction of the head Auror.

The call comes in from IBAS early one Tuesday afternoon. The Aurors have arrested a notorious wizard, and the charge list is as long as James's arm. Evading an Auror, a dozen Improper Use of Magic notices, and seven separate counts of using magic in front of Muggles. And that's before they even get onto the reason they were trying to arrest him: supplying and smuggling contraband Potions ingredients into the country from all over the world. The wizard needs an Advocate, and it is just luck that the call goes to Edwards and Malfoy rather than any other firm.

As it happens, Draco is in the main office when the call comes through, so James hears the basics, enough to know that it's the type of thing he's really eager to see. When Draco approaches James's desk he smiles, automatically reaching for his cloak before Draco raises one hand in a 'wait a minute' gesture. James looks up at him expectantly.

"Your father was the arresting Auror," Draco says, his voice too soft to carry to anyone else in the office. "You don't have to come."

"No, I – " James stops and thinks for a minute. "Will you do the talking?"

"On a case like this, yes."

"I'd like to observe, then," James says. "If that's okay."

Draco nods, and they Apparate to the foyer of the Ministry together. James can feel the nervousness churning in his guts, and Draco won't look at him, not properly. Meeting the client is a fairly formulaic process, and since he doesn't object, James settles himself in a corner of the room to make notes. The normality of it all soothes him, as does the glance Draco gives him on his way out to fetch the interview team. It's not a look that offers comfort or reassurance, because it's a look that says James doesn't need comfort; that says he's a professional, and Draco knows he will act that way.

It's...interesting, in a strange way, watching the interview. It basically comes down to a battle of wills between his father and Draco. Draco seizes on a small detail, a tiny error in procedure that could jeopardise the Ministry's case and James has to fight a smile. Draco has this amazing eye for detail, it's something James wants to emulate one day. As James writes, his free hand wanders to the silver bracelet he rarely removes, two fingers pressed against the smooth surface.

James doesn't meet his dad's eye once, scribbling away in his notebook. As well as aspects of the law, James finds himself noting down things that Draco says, the way he says them. He has a certain way of sitting back in his chair, a type of eye contact that seems so utterly disinterested, as though there's no chance this could go anything other than Draco's way. James finds, not for the first time, that he likes watching Draco work. Despite everything between them, Draco is careful to give as much time as before to James's training, and if he sometimes offers unorthodox incentives, at least it's effective. Still, there's a difference between debating and discussing the system, and watching Draco actually use those same skills. James is rapidly losing count of all the different ways that applying to Edwards and Malfoy was the best decision he ever made.

In spite of the relatively serious charges, the procedural errors mean that Draco easily negotiates a conditional release. James is on hand, correctly interpreting the unspoken cues to hand Draco the necessary paperwork. Once or twice, Draco nods to James, approval in his eyes and James uses the looks to ground himself. It's surprising how much better everything seems when James has Draco looking at him like that - calm acceptance and maybe a hint of pride.

It's all pretty much a formality after that. The papers are signed. James's dad and the other Auror leave, obviously pissed off. The client shakes Draco by the hand and leaves. Alone in the interview room, Draco gives James a brief look, and James nods - fine, I'm fine - before they leave the room.

He isn't expecting it, but he should have been. His dad is waiting outside the room, determination on his face.

"I want a word," he says.

"Address enquiries in to the firm in writing, Auror Potter. You know procedure, even if you can't follow it," Draco drawls.

"Not with you, Malfoy," his dad snaps, without so much as looking away from James. James can't help it, looks at Draco like help me please. Draco looks back and forth between them a couple of times before he looks to James.

"Meet me back at the office, Potter," he says expressionlessly. "Don't be late."

"No, sir," James says, and he has to stop himself tracking Draco's progress around the corner, resolutely turning his eyes to his dad instead, only to find him glaring after Draco. He feels a flutter of fear because his dad is nothing if not perceptive. "Is there a problem with the case, sir?" James asks, retreating into the safe haven of the job.

"James."

"Yes?" James asks, and there's a long, strained silence. It occurs to James that this is probably the longest he's spent with his dad in years. He's not used to it anymore, not used to the look that says I know what you're hiding. He knows that his dad doesn't know, of course, there's no way he can know. It's just a look that parents have - they probably practice in front of mirrors, James thinks, until they are able to make their kids squirm.

"That man is guilty," he says eventually, and James closes his eyes, already exasperated, but a tiny bit relieved that they can retreat into professionalism.

"He still has rights."

"What, to wriggle out of legitimate charges?"

"If they're that legitimate, there wouldn't be a way out. Not my fault you lot can't keep accurate records."

"God, James," he says, settling his fists on his hips and sighing out a long breath. "Right and wrong, remember that?"

You're asking me?

For a second James is back when it all came out, having a screaming argument with his dad, and the words are right there, but he freezes at the last second. Right and wrong. Right and wrong. Jesus. He doesn't have a leg to stand on anymore, does he?

"I have to get back to work," he says, turning away.

He finds Draco waiting around the corner, looking at him with eyes that are far too sympathetic.

"You heard all that?" James asks, and Draco just nods once.

"Write up the report when we get back to the office, will you?"

"Yes, sir," James says, and he feels weirdly comforted by Draco's lack of a reaction.

The report is a fairly straightforward one, and James is mostly finished a couple of hour later when Draco emerges from his office and walks to James's desk.

"How's the report coming, Potter?" he asks, and James has to restrain a beaming smile, knowing enough by now to realise that's Draco's way of asking if he's okay.

"Good, thank you, sir. I'll have it for you by the end of the day."

"Good," Draco nods, and then taps his fingertips against James's desk before speaking again. "You did well today, James," he says, and James looks up, smiling at the sudden praise.

"Thank you, sir."

"Can't have been easy, coming up against your own father like that."

"It was bound to happen at some point, sir," James points out.

"I suppose it was," Draco agrees. "You were very professional."

"Thank you, sir. I have this really amazing boss, he's taught me a lot," James adds quietly, and Draco gives a tiny huff of amusement. He looks closely at James and then leans forward over the desk a little bit.

"What are you doing at the weekend?" Draco asks, and it's so casual that James almost wonders if he's going to ask him to do overtime. He catches Draco's gaze though, the hidden spark in his pale eyes, and he can't help smiling.

"Nothing," he says, and Draco returns the smile with a small one of his own.

"Keep it that way," he says quietly, and James's heart thuds inside his chest.

On Saturday morning, James arrives at the flat promptly at half past eight. He finds Draco waiting in the kitchen, skimming through the business pages of The Prophet. He's wearing black trousers and a white shirt, a cup of tea at his elbow, looking utterly relaxed.

"Hi," James says, and he can't hide his excitement even in a single syllable.

"Hello," Draco says, setting the paper aside and leaning in for a kiss. "Do you have everything you need?" he asks.

"Yep," James grins, dropping his bag to pull Draco closer, hands wandering. "Right here."

"Nice idea," Draco says, gently moving James's hands away from his body. "But the Portkey will activate in ten minutes."

"Portkey? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"Oh..." James says, unable to hold back a smile. They're going away. "Ten minutes will do," James offers, only half joking.

"Not for what I have in mind," Draco promises, and he doesn't sound like he's joking at all.

It feels like the longest ten minutes of James's life. He gets a glass of water, watches covertly as Draco looks over at him.

"Come here," he says, and James sets down his glass, crosses the room to stand in front of Draco's chair. In a sudden movement Draco stands, nudges James against the table and pulls him into a long kiss. James groans, kisses harder when Draco tugs at his hair. "Five minutes," Draco says when the kiss ends. James makes an outraged noise, intending to tell Draco that teasing is unacceptable no matter who does it, but Draco kisses him again before he has the chance, his fingers hooked in James's belt-loops, tugging him closer at the same time as he presses forward with his own body, pinning James against the table.

"Please," James groans, unable to resist rolling his hips against Draco's.

"Two minutes," Draco says, stepping back, a gorgeously smug smile on his face. "Get your bag."

"You are unbelievable," James laughs, grabbing his bag from the floor and trying to calm down.

"I try," Draco acknowledges, and James can't help grinning. Maybe it's down to the knowledge that they have a whole weekend ahead of them, but James doesn't think he's ever seen Draco so...carefree before. He deserves that, deserves time to relax and be playful instead of serious, and James feels giddily flattered that of all the people in the world, he's the one who gets to see Draco this way.

"Where's the Portkey?" James asks, and Draco reaches inside the collar of his shirt, withdrawing a ring on a long chain.

"Sit down," Draco says, nodding towards a chair. Slightly puzzled, James sits down and Draco takes the chair next to him, sliding the ring off the chain and onto his middle finger. "Take my hand," he says, "And make sure you're touching the ring."

"Okay," James says, winding his fingers around Draco's, turning their hands to look at the ring. It's antique-looking silver, embossed with an intricate M, and what James assumes is the Malfoy crest. Unable to resist, James lifts Draco's hand, kisses the back of his knuckles before he feels a familiar tug as the Portkey activates.

The lurching sensation lasts a long time, and James realises with a start that this is an international Portkey. He tightens his grip on Draco's hand and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, all he can see is the shadowy barrier of a warded Apparition point. He follows Draco through the wards and down a street, and he only sees enough to know that this definitely isn't England. It's too warm for one thing, and the street is narrow, small houses close together, extensions on the upper floors almost meeting above the road.

James hears a brief rattle of something that might be Italian, or might be French, and as he's about to ask Draco where they are, Draco leads him onto a larger street and through the doors of a large Muggle building, obviously a hotel. He follows Draco up to the reception desk and starts when Draco speaks fluently to the woman behind the desk in what James is almost sure now is Italian.

A suited attendant relieves them of their bags and leads them into an elevator with mirrors on the walls. James meets Draco's gaze in one of the mirrors, smiles at the waiting, wanting look in his eyes. When they're shown into a large room, James leaves Draco to deal with the attendant while he crosses the room to the large balcony. He stares out at the view unthinkingly for a minute before he hears the door close again and turns around.

"Is this...Venice?" James asks disbelievingly. "Are we in Venice?"

"Yes," Draco nods. "It's a beautiful city."

It's also a romantic city, a city for lovers, James knows that much, and in the spirit of that, he launches himself at Draco and they stumble back, falling onto the bed.

The weekend is beyond wonderful. It doesn't feel real. Draco has booked them an entire suite in the lavish Muggle hotel and they don't leave it, in fact barely leave the bedroom from Friday night to Monday morning. It's a cliché, of course. Older men, more stamina, all that stuff. It's also true, if James's experience is anything to go by. The whole weekend is a blur of sex and afterglow, and sex in the afterglow.

By Saturday lunchtime, James is already feeling overwhelmed, and it only gets better. Any time he wants, he can touch Draco, kiss him, pull him down onto the bed. They order food delivered to the room, take a bath together that turns into such a protracted groping session that it leaves James giddy and pleading. When they're not fucking they're talking, about anything and nothing, or dozing curled up together. Although he's broader than Draco, James takes great pleasure in pressing himself close, feeling Draco's arms tight around him, his head tucked under Draco's chin.

For his part, Draco can't seem to stop touching James, hands roaming across his skin, seeking out spots on James that he normally never has time to savour. James surrenders himself to it like he surrenders himself to anything to do with Draco. It's incredible, having someone - anyone, really, but this someone especially - touch him so voraciously, like he's something precious.

"How do you do it?" Draco asks at one point on Saturday night, one hand carefully cradling James's skull. "How do you do this to me? You make me feel..."

Seeing as Draco's fucking him right at that moment, slow and sweet, James's hands braced on the tile wall of the shower, James isn't sure what he can be doing to Draco.

"You're amazing," James says. "Everything about you. I - "

Draco kisses James's shoulder then, a soft, affectionate gesture and things like that, moments like that... James doesn't know how but they make up for any amount of sneaking around, lying to his friends and family, stolen weekends in posh hotels.

Sunday morning starts slow and lazy, Draco sprawled in the rumpled sheets as James rides him, focusing on the push and drag of every inch. Draco's hands are firm on James's thighs, guiding him up and down. James can see the exact moment that something changes. Draco bites his lower lip and his eyes darken as he looks up at James. Then he has one hand around James, stroking him so good and tight-fast-perfect, the other hand pulling James down by the back of his neck, kissing his mouth deeply.

"St - oh my God," James groans, hands on his own thighs now, feeling his muscles bunch and flex. "Stop," he manages, and Draco sucks on his lower lip, bites at it.

"Stop?"

"Yeah, I - " James says, and he can't help feeling embarrassed. "I'm - s'too much."

Draco just laughs throatily, tightens the grip of his hand, twisting and squeezing just perfectly in a way that makes James moan wildly, eyes squeezed tight. Draco makes James come fast, then carries on fucking him, deliberately slow, maddeningly gentle, until James is hard all over again. Draco presses James down into the sheets after that, fucks him harder, faster, until James is clinging onto the headboard, ankles hooked around Draco's back.

Coming the second time is close enough to pain that it feels like a major fucking accomplishment, and James can't help crying out over and over again, desperate little noises easily swallowed up by Draco's mouth. Draco kisses him fiercely and James relishes every relentless thrust of Draco's hips until Draco comes too, collapsing over James, pressing a line of soft bites along his jaw.

James feels...turned inside out. He can't stop trembling, and Draco obviously notices, carefully moving onto his back and pulling James with him, tucking him in close the way James has been doing all weekend. James lets out a huge, shuddering breath, practically clinging to Draco, full of unprecedented need. Draco is as perfect as ever, not so much of a twitch in reaction. He just wraps one arm around James's back, the other coming up to mess with his hair, so that James's face is almost in the crook of his elbow.

James keeps eyes closed, losing himself to the feeling of Draco's body, Draco's fingers. They twist clumps of his hair together then run through it from the root, pressing it back into some semblance of order. He barely notices when Draco pulls a sheet over them, cool brush of material against his skin. James's heart is in his throat. Something is happening. It feels almost like panic, except he doesn't want to run from it. He closes his eyes tighter, trying to keep himself together, breathing in the taste of Draco's skin.

"I hate my dad," James says abruptly, and he feels Draco's fingers still in his hair. He desperately wants to call the words back, because they have never, never once mentioned his father outside of work, and now that he has done so, James feels like it was...crass of him.

"Why?" Draco asks coolly, and his fingers start moving again, resuming their slow cycle of tangling and straightening James's hair.

"Because - " James says, and then stops. Because Draco knows. He must know. Or at least, he must think he knows, because everyone thinks they know. It was all over the papers, of course, and at first the press and public thought it was unseemly, the way the great Harry Potter waltzed around with his new woman before the ink was dry on his divorce papers. Before long though, the coverage was all about how Mr. Potter looked younger and happier than he had in years. James thinks they might as well have come to the house and laughed right in his mum's face, cutting out the middleman.

"Because he lied to me," he says in a rush. "Because he left me with no choice but to do something I knew was wrong, and he said it would - that it would be okay, but in the end, it didn't make any kind of difference."

"Hmm," Draco says after a pause, his hand moving down to cup around the back of James's neck, his lips pressing against the top of James's head. He sounds almost like he's amused.

"What?" James asks, unable to keep the prickliness out of his tone.

"Nothing," Draco says, hand still pressing James close to his chest. "You surprise me sometimes, that's all."

"Is that a good thing?" James asks and Draco laughs.

"A very good thing," he says, and James smiles, turning his head a fraction against the pressure of Draco's hand to kiss the skin under his cheek.

Draco pulls him up into a proper kiss, fingers rubbing softly across the back of James's neck in time with the fluttering touch of his tongue against James's. The press of his fingers is a gently possessive touch that makes James want to just melt, and the kiss they share is long, lazy, building and slowing until James's self control snaps and he pushes himself up on his arms, kissing Draco more demandingly, teasing bites along his jaw.

"Thank you," James whispers, into Draco's ear, and maybe it's pathetic but he doesn't care. He's so completely, overwhelming grateful for Draco, for all he's done for James, for the simple chance to have Draco in his life.

Draco doesn't talk about him, the same way that James doesn't talk about his dad (apart from that one, crazy time, open and raw and only half lucid), but it's obvious that Draco's son is the centre of his world. When Scorpius finishes school, James and Draco have less time together. James tries not to resent it, but it's hard. Draco is distracted, and James thinks he sees genuine doubt, confusion, maybe even guilt in Draco's eyes for the first time.

James doesn't mind carrying the guilt for both of them, and he does. He imagines people finding out, how hurt they will be, women crying, men shouting and throwing punches. James has imagined and ignored every scenario, because it's good enough, what they have together. Draco feeling that guilt though... That's terrifying, because James can't imagine losing this, and even more so, he can't work out when this became it - the one thing he can't live without.

One year after he starts his formal training, James and about fifteen other trainees sit the first round of exams. If James passes, he will be able to handle smaller cases on his own, and to take a more active role in the serious cases he shadows with Draco.

He's as nervous as he can ever remember being, and when he gets out of the exam it takes a good half hour for his hand to feel normal again after all the writing, but he's fairly certain he's passed. In spite of the anxiety beforehand, he actually felt good while he was writing his answers, like all the facts he needed were neatly lined up in his head, just waiting for him to put them together the right way.

When he gets home, there is an owl perched on his windowsill, and James hurries to let it in, assuming it'll be from Danny. They have plans to meet later with some other people from school, have a few drinks and celebrate James's freedom from exams for another year, and Danny's always owling at the last minute to say he's running late.

Instead it's a sheet of headed parchment from work, and James has an absurd moment of panic. What if he's sat the wrong exam or something equally ridiculous? Instead of anything like that, it just says:

How was the exam?

D.

More than anything else Draco has said or done, that makes James smile, because yes, as a key figure in his training, Draco has a vested interest in seeing him pass. But James knows Draco well enough by now to know that he wouldn't usually bother discussing the exams, just the results, which are not due for a couple of weeks. It means he cares, and James glances at the clock contemplatively.

He's not meeting Danny until half six, and they're not meeting the others until seven. It's a relatively narrow window of opportunity, but James takes a quick shower and Floos to the office just before six. He knows the timing well now, and Draco is alone in his office when James gets there. He hastily abandons the bunch of papers he'd grabbed in case he needed a cover story.

"It went well," he says as he walks into the office, relishing the startled expression on Draco's face when he looks up.

"Good," he says, quickly recovering his composure and setting aside his work.

James grins and crosses the room, perching on the edge of Draco's desk.

"I wanted to say thanks," he says. "For all the help. And the books you loaned me. And...and for asking."

"You're welcome. For all of the above," Draco says, leaning back in his chair to look up at James, quiet invitation on his face. James decides to take him up on it, edging closer and bending forward into Draco's soft kisses. He feels Draco's fingers slide up his arm, over his shoulder, into his hair, and he angles his head the way he thinks Draco wants, feeling a familiar stirring as the kiss becomes hotter, more purposeful.

"Are you busy tonight?" Draco asks, kissing along James's jaw to his ear as he speaks, nipping at the lobe.

"I said I'd meet... You know what? Never mind," James decides, turning his head to give Draco better access to the side of his throat, and blinking in surprise when Draco sits back in his chair, looking up seriously.

"James. I don't want you to neglect your friends for me."

"They won't mind," James says. "I see them all the time."

"I mean it," Draco says.

"So do I," James insists.

"Go and see your friends," Draco says. "That's an order. Have fun, get drunk, turn up to work hungover in the morning. I have a feeling your boss will be lenient."

"But - "

"No buts," Draco says firmly, standing suddenly, stepping into James's space, one hand on either side of James on the desk. He leans down and kisses James's open mouth, a long slow kiss. "We can celebrate when your results come through."

"We can?" James asks hopefully, turning his face up towards Draco's for another kiss.

"All night long if you'd like," Draco says.

"I'd like," James grins. "I'd really like."

His results come two weeks to the day later, early in the morning. He opens the scroll enough to see Pass with Distinction and laughs in delight. He has time before work so he Apparates over to his mum's to let her know. Al is still in bed and Lily is at their dad's house, but his mum hugs him tight, beaming with delight, and promises to tell them later. He steals a bowl of cereal from the cupboard before he goes to work, her pride ringing in his ears.

By the time he gets into the office, Draco has already received notification as James's immediate superior, and he nods to James when he arrives, flashes him a brief, bright smile. The batch of reports on James's desk which need finalising and filing is big enough to keep his mind off his results, and the promised night long celebration, to such an extent that when he knocks on Draco's door a few hours later, he honestly only has professional intentions.

"Ah, James," Draco says, sounding distracted. "Take a seat and I'll – "

Before Draco finishes his sentence, the door is closed and he crosses the room in two steps, leaning in to kiss James insistently. Of course, it doesn't take much for James to give in, even though – or maybe because? – it's so fucking dangerous. All he can think is that on the other side of that door are various colleagues going about their normal work day routines, and he is in here, letting Draco's weight push him against the wall, letting Draco's clever tongue and perfect pink lips drive him to distraction.

"Congratulations," Draco says as he moves away, his voice low and rich and promising. James lets his head fall back against the wall with a quiet thump and bites back a muffled groan. Just from that one kiss, he is completely fired up, unable to help wishing there was a way they could fuck right here and now. Hard and fast and dirty, with Draco's hand pressed over his mouth, that sounds just about perfect, but they can't.

"How am I meant to go out there and act normally now?" he grumbles, and Draco just laughs, returning to sit behind his desk, waving James towards the other chair.

"I'll make it up to you tonight," he promises.

"You'd better," James teases, because he's feeling lucky today, like he can push Draco further than he usually would.

"Everything alright?" Draco asks, and James nods, leaning back comfortably in the chair. He smiles at Draco, probably looking like an idiot, but he can't help himself. He's always felt comfortable here, in Draco's office, in his space, like it's somehow easier to think there than anywhere else.

"Just one thing," he says, passing a folder across the desk to Draco. "This one here, I'm not sure whether to use a section 2.7, or a section 3.5. I know it's at our discretion, but I think I could make a case for either, so..."

Draco picks up the folder, leafs through it and tilts his head to one side as he reads, a small frown growing on his face.

"I see what you mean," he says. "Well, run me through your argument for a 2.7 first and we'll go from there."

They debate the merits of referring to each section of the Advocacy Act for a good half hour, and it only takes ten minutes for James to realise that Draco honestly doesn't have a preference, because this is James's report now, and he expects James to make the correct decision. It's a good feeling, talking to Draco about something they both have a passion for, and the conversation is casual enough that James nearly struggles a few times to maintain the polite formality he aims for during working hours.

Eventually, Draco glances at his watch and then back up at James with a regretful smile.

"Meeting at the Ministry in twenty minutes," he says.

"Alright," James says, straightening in his chair and gathering his paperwork from Draco's desk. "Thanks for your help," he adds, and Draco just waves one long-fingered, elegant hand dismissively.

"Tonight," he says, his voice low. "Go to the flat after work, I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Okay," James nods, smiling widely. "Looking forward to it."

"Likewise," Draco says, and the sound of his voice shivers through James, setting his nerves on fire.

A call comes in from IBAS one Thursday afternoon about a witch arrested for Apparating in front of Muggles for the third time in as many months. It's a fairly minor charge, but the repetitions make it a little more interesting, and James is pleasantly surprised when Draco drops the paperwork on his desk.

"You can handle this one alone, can't you?" he asks, and James's gut reaction is to say yes, because he doesn't want to fail to rise to any challenge Draco sets him. Besides, his own case from start to finish? That's a pretty big deal. He's been itching to do one since he passed his exams. In spite of his excitement, James forces himself to look at the summary notes before answering.

"I think so, yes," he says.

"You think so?" Draco asks.

"I – yes. I can do it. Definitely," James says, nodding firmly.

"That's better," Draco says. "I imagine it'll be gone four by the time you finish, so take the rest of the day and fill me in tomorrow."

"Thanks, sir."

James gathers everything he needs and then ducks into the bathroom to make sure he doesn't have ink on his face or more ridiculous than usual hair. He straightens his robes carefully and tries to sober up a little. The client needs to know he's invested in her case, certainly, but she doesn't need him bouncing off the walls with excitement.

When he thinks he looks relatively more like a competent Advocate than a hyper teenager, James Apparates to the Ministry and makes his way to the Advocacy suite to meet the client. Instead, he's stopped by his uncle Ron who's waiting a few yards down from the suite, looking uncomfortable. James is taken aback for a minute – there was no mention of Ron's name on the paperwork, either for this or any previous arrests. He half wonders if something has happened to a member of the family before Ron looks at him carefully and says,

"Sorry, James, you can't work this one."

"What? Why not?"

"Conflict of interests," Ron says, and James is just utterly confused for a minute. "Your dad, he wants to sit in on the interview, and the suspect - "

James wants to swear but he just sets his jaw, looks through Ron.

"I see no conflict of interests. I have had no personal contact with Auror Potter for several years - "

"James," Ron says, sounding pained. "The suspect doesn't want - "

"God damn it," James snaps under his breath. "Fine. I'll contact IBAS, get somebody else sent over."

"It's already done."

"Right," James says through gritted teeth.

"Don't be angry," Ron says a bit helplessly, like he doesn't understand what's going on. Which, to be fair, he doesn't.

"How am I meant to be?" James demands. "This is my job. He's stopping me from doing my job."

"It's not - "

"Yes it is," James snaps. "I read the case notes, Ron, there is no reason for him to sit in."

"James - "

"Forget it," he says, forcing himself to calm down a little. Ron might be Uncle Ron, but he's still an Auror, and James can't exactly start talking about what a bastard he thinks the head Auror is. "See you later," he adds stiffly, turning to walk away. He makes it as far as the Atrium before he realises: he has to go back to work now, and tell Draco that he got chased off a case by his own father. God damn it.

When James gets back to the office he can't help loitering outside for a few minutes before going in. He's never messed up before, not seriously. He's never been unable to do something Draco asked of him, and it is a really crappy feeling. He's pretty annoyed about having his case snatched away from him too, but almost overwhelming the anger is the sense of disappointment in letting Draco down.

Even though, James reflects, he didn't actually do anything wrong. It was his bloody dad, of all people, and that's something James will have to think about later: why did his dad choose now to start interfering in James's career? Right now though, he has to go in and face the music.

When he walks into the office, the receptionist, Isabella, looks up at him with open curiosity.

"What are you doing back?" Isabella asks, and James just scowls, immediately feeling guilty, because Isabella has always been sweet to him. He forces himself to relax, offers her a half-hearted smile, and asks,

"Is Mr. Malfoy free?"

"No meetings," Isabella nods, and James crosses through the office to Draco's door, knocking and waiting. When he steps inside, Draco blinks up at him, obviously surprised.

"What happened?" he asks, no preamble.

"The Aurors raised a possible conflict of interests," James says, as carefully controlled as he can manage.

"I see. Did you agree with their assessment?"

"Of course not. Sir," James adds at the last minute, remembering himself just in time. Draco just waves a hand at him distractedly.

"Sit down," he says, and James folds himself into the chair opposite Draco, watching as Draco taps a quill with his wand and it starts writing what James imagines is a strident, complaining letter to the Aurors. "Your father?" Draco asks, and James nods.

"Yeah. But it's not just that, is it?" James asks with a rising sense of dread. "It's going to be – I'm not stupid, you know. I notice how some clients clam up around me as soon as they hear my name. I don't know if I'll ever be able to do this job properly as long as I'm Harry Potter's son."

"You will be," Draco says coolly, as though it's not even up for question.

"Should I change my name?" James asks, mostly just thinking aloud. "I mean, I could practice under a different - "

"No," Draco says firmly. "Absolutely not, James. You don't change a name, you make it your own."

And that's...that's so bloody smart that James abandons most of his anger in favour of that weird sense of awe and adoration he gets around Draco. Still...

"He's such a dickhead," James grumbles, and hates how young he sounds.

"I concur," Draco says gravely, and James relaxes enough to laugh a little. "Back to work, Potter."

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," James grins.

"And James?"

"Yes?"

"Are you free tonight?"

"Oh," James says, surprised. "Yes. Yeah, I am, but I thought you were – busy."

He can't believe he just said that. Really, really, can't believe it. What an idiot.

"Nothing I can't rearrange," Draco says, shrugging as though it's nothing, and it's a ridiculous cliché, but James's heart really does soar, or at the very least something strange expands inside his chest, almost making it hard to breathe.

"Alright," James nods. "Meet you at the flat?"

"No," Draco says. "Let's go for dinner."

They go back to the same restaurant as the first time. It's become a favourite of theirs, and James gets the feeling the staff recognise them, or at least recognise Draco's expensive taste in wine. Afterwards, they Apparate to Draco's flat, and James doesn't get home until well after midnight, stumbling to bed straight away, feeling infinitely better about his day.

James gets his first solo case just a matter of days later, along with a request from one of the other full-time Advocates at the firm to assist on a private wrongful arrest case. James agrees gratefully, because it's exactly the sort of thing he wants to do, even though it takes up a lot of his time, even if his 'late nights at the office' are more and more often just that - nights spent wading through Wizengamot records, past case histories, anything that might strengthen their position. It's more exhausting than it should really be, but James still loves it. It's like the buzz he gets from crafting a persuasive argument, but a private case of this size and complexity makes it feel at once better and more daunting than anything he's done at work so far.

In between juggling formal training, the private case, and everyday work, James gets home from working an IBAS case one night to realise it's been two weeks since he and Draco had any time together. On the off-chance Draco will be there alone, he decides to run by the office. He can think of a dozen excuses in case there's someone else there.

When he lets himself through the wards into the main office, he sees Draco's door half open and James grins, moving a bit faster and starting to pull off his coat. Then...

"I want to know what the hell you think you're playing at with my son."

Fuck, James thinks wildly, praying for the sudden realisation that he heard wrong. No. Definitely his father. In Draco's office. Asking about James. Oh God, oh fuck, we are completely screwed. There's not a single thing James could say to talk this away if... He freezes for a second, tangled up in the sleeves of his coat and then backs away carefully into the shadows, out of view of the office door. He has to strain his ears to hear from that distance but he needs to know what's about to be said.

"Training him in the practical and theoretical aspects of Advocacy," Draco says coolly. "Why, Potter? Whatever do you do with your trainees?"

"Right. Your only interest here is in furthering his career. Of course."

Work, James realises desperately. They're talking about work. I think.

"You might not see it, Potter, but your son is an intelligent young man with excellent prospects," Draco says, as though he's utterly bored of the conversation. "Naturally, that's assuming you don't intend to raise a conflict of interests on every case he works."

James has to smile at that, because it feels remarkably like Draco is fighting his corner, against his dad of all people, and that is a brilliant feeling.

"I - "

"That was dazzlingly professional by the way," Draco says condescendingly. "I'm sure IBAS would be interested in the details."

"Don't you try to threaten me, Malfoy. And stop filling my son's head with your twisted sense of justice."

"That's right, of course," Draco sneers. "I was the one who made him apply for the job, and I'm sure he's never had an original thought in his life, has he? You're an inspiring father figure, Potter, no wonder he's so fond of you."

James can't help a wince at that, because it reveals just how well Draco knows James. He realises he has to get out of here right now. Tempting though it might be to stay and listen, being discovered by either Draco or his dad (or both) would be a nightmare. He creeps back through the wards as quietly as he can, and when he's out of earshot he Apparates home. It's only when he gets there and sits down on the sofa that he realises he's shaking.

That was...really uncomfortably close. Jesus. He buries his face in his hands, takes a few deep breaths, trying not to think about what would have happened if he hadn't heard the voices, had just walked into Draco's office the way he's become accustomed to, a swing in his step and a provocative suggestion on his lips. Or if Draco and his dad had been in the main office when James arrived. Or if James had arrived ten minutes earlier, his dad ten minutes later...

Unable to settle, James Floos Danny and they head out for an evening in the pub followed by a Chinese takeaway eaten in companionable silence on the sofa in Danny's flat. By the time he gets home, James is drunk and comfortable enough to have mostly dismissed it. Draco didn't know James was going to be there, and if he doesn't mention it, James won't either. It's not perfect, but it'll do.

The next morning, his composure has fled and he's even more nervous than he was on the first day of his internship. He's never been so scared to go into work before and he takes extra time over making sure his robes are perfect, making sure he has all the paperwork he could possibly need for the day. As a result, he's about ten minutes late, for the first time ever. No one remarks on it as he hurries over to his desk, but he still feels guilty.

Draco doesn't mention his encounter with James's dad during working hours, and he doesn't mention it afterwards either, too busy pinning James to the desk, mouthing lewd promises against the back of James's neck, and James remembers his resolve from the previous night. He's sure as hell not going to bring it up if he doesn't have to.

It still comes back to him sometimes, the things his dad said, the way Draco answered, the magnitude of the disaster that almost happened, and only he knows about. It grows less and less often as the weeks pass, and James starts to relax.

Everything's so good that James should have been expecting it. He's not, though. He's really not.

When it happens, it's on a good day, one of the best so far. The last session of formal training before a two week break was excellent, and James is inordinately proud of the fact that he's starting to sound like a real professional. He goes to the Ministry with Draco after lunch, to meet with a wizard arrested by the Aurors on suspicion of supplying fake wands. Draco doesn't jump in at all as James talks to the client, and then to the Aurors, successfully negotiating an informal warning. His dad is nowhere in sight.

The rest of the day passes by quickly, writing reports, discussing case histories, the usual. Early in the afternoon, Draco gives James a look, one that is barely discernible as a look at all but James nonetheless knows means tonight. James has to fight to keep his grin in check. It feels like it's been ages.

He's been worried a few times, recently, because he sees that niggling guilt more and more on Draco's face. And seeing it in Draco...he feels it more himself, sick, stomach-churning feel of what am I doing? Who have I turned into when I wasn't looking? Sometimes James feels like everything is tail-spinning but he has made a conscious decision to hang on as long as possible.

He waits as patiently as he can, and twenty minutes after the last person leaves, James slips into Draco's office. Draco is already on his feet near the door and James laughs at the familiarity of their little routine. He wraps his arms around Draco, steals a warm kiss before turning away to cast the wards. When he looks back, Draco is still standing just where he was, hands curled into loose fists at his sides. James experiences a first twist of anxiety but – no, no, no – silences it by kissing Draco again, lifting his hands carefully to rest one on the side of Draco's throat, the other sliding into his hair.

"James," Draco says, and then he kisses James once more, a quick peck.

Fuck.

"Come and sit down, alright? I need to talk to you."

James has the mad urge to say no, to get the hell out, come back in the morning and pretend this never happened. Instead, James lets himself be led over to the armchairs, folds himself down into one while Draco sits in the other, half turned to face James. James looks up at him, trying to find a way to say don't you fucking do this with his eyes.

"My wife – means a lot to me, James," Draco says into the brittle silence.

"No she doesn't," James says, glaring at him, because that is just utterly, patently untrue.

"My marriage, then," Draco says through gritted teeth, as though that makes all the difference in the world. "My marriage means a lot to me."

"But you – " James breaks off abruptly. "If it meant that much to you, what have we been doing the last year?" He regrets the question as soon as he asks it, because he doesn't want to know, doesn't want to hear...

"Having fun. Fun which is now over, James. I'm sorry if you thought it was something more."

That. He didn't want to hear that.

"No," James says slowly, raising a hand to his head, thumb and middle finger pressed to his temples. "Just – wait. Wait."

"James - "

"No," he says again, looking up. "You - you like me, I know you do."

"Of course I like you," Draco says. "But I love my family, and this has to stop."

"Is this about my dad?" James demands. "The other week?"

"What?"

"I heard you arguing with him. Is that why you're – "

"No," Draco says. "Nothing to do with that."

"What – just – why now?" James demands.

"It's just time," Draco says, and something clicks into place for James. This isn't real. Well, it is real, but Draco isn't being real. This is Draco-talking-to-a-stubborn-client, not James's Draco, and all of a sudden James is about two steps away from being completely livid. Because Draco is ending this, and he doesn't even have the grace to do it himself, he's stepping into a role, and right then James hates him for it, a tiny bit.

"You could at least – " he starts, and then snaps his mouth shut. "You know what, forget it. What now, then?"

"This won't impact in your training in any way, you have my word on – "

"Not what I meant," James says flatly. "What happens here? Now? To us?"

Silence. Unsurprising, because James doesn't know what he's asking for.

"One last time?" Draco suggests, and James feels like he's been slapped. He can't keep the wounded expression off his face. The worst thing is that he actually considers it. Maybe. You know. Show him what he'll be missing (make him change his mind), he thinks, and the voice speaking the words in his head is unfamiliar, shaky and sarcastic and a bit crazy.

He stares for long seconds, a blank wide-eyed please-please-don't-do-this-to-me kind of look, and then lurches out of the room on weak legs.

Come the morning, James Floos the office and speaks to Isabella. He says that he's ill and his sleepless night obviously shows on his face because she looks concerned and sympathetic as she ushers him away. Some dim, distant part of James is glad that this happened in the break from formal training, because there's no way he could drag himself there. Then he wonders if maybe Draco planned it that way, and he feels faintly sick.

He basically sits on the sofa for three days. Sometimes he turns the bracelet around on his wrist, and a few times he considers going to the flat. He knows it's pointless though, because Draco won't be there. He'll be at home. With his family, which is exactly where James knows, has known, always knew, he would end up.

It hurts so much.

Late on the third day, he cracks. He's so sad, doesn't think he's ever been this broken up before. There's only one person who could actually help and that isn't an option, but still. He's going to go crazy if he sits here much longer, so he Apparates to Teddy's neighbourhood and lets himself into his little house.

It's all quiet so James grabs the blankets from the spare bedroom and curls up on the floor in the corner of the living room, opposite the television. He finds cartoons on one of the channels and settles in to wait. Teddy Apparates in not long later, thankfully alone, and does a double-take when he sees the TV on.

"That you, James?" he asks.

"Hey, Ted," James calls from his corner.

"Hey, you," Teddy grins, shrugging off his coat. "Haven't caught you hiding out at my place since I still lived with Gran."

"Yeah," James says a bit listlessly.

"Is, uh - is everything okay?" Teddy asks.

"Yup," James nods. "S'why I busted in here to watch cartoons."

"Alright," Teddy concedes. "Stupid question. You want to talk about it?"

"Nope," James says, relieved when Teddy just nods again, settles down on the floor next to him and steals a blanket.

Teddy is all ineffective sympathy and baffled concern but James barely notices. There's only one thing, one person he wants, and he can never have him again. Never. It's so utterly final. He had been so final, so casual in his offer of one last time, so surprised when James just looked at him and left, although in reality it was more like he fled.

"I like this one," Teddy says into the silence a while later, nodding at the TV, and he's deliberately casual as he slings his arm companionably around James's shoulders.

"Me too," James says, although he couldn't describe the cartoon if he tried. He closes his eyes and lets out a deep breath, leaning into Teddy's side a little.

A few days later, Teddy stumbles out of his room in the morning to find James on the sofa, wrapped in blankets, watching cartoons. Again.

"Are you ever going back to work?" he asks, and James shakes his head.

"I think I have to quit."

"Uh. Why?" Teddy asks, looking about two coffees away from ready for this conversation.

Because I fucked my boss sounds ridiculous, and because my boss fucked me and doesn't want to anymore sounds pathetic, so James just shrugs.

"Can't take it anymore," he says.

"Right," Teddy says, rubbing a hand over his face. True to form, he waves his wand in the direction of the kitchen, and the smell of coffee starts filtering through immediately. "The job or the place?"

"The place," James admits, grateful for Teddy's ability to completely skirt the issue while still asking the questions that matter.

"Alright, so. Can't you transfer to another firm? You must have made some contacts in your training."

"Yeah," James says slowly. "Y-yeah, maybe."

The idea hasn't occurred to him before, because no ideas have really occurred to him over the last few days. But he might be able to do that. Transfer his work experience, funding, and all associated contracts to another firm. Finish up his training without Draco's input. Do the job. Without Draco's input.

"No," Draco says, and James feels his heart sink.

"But - "

"No," he says again. "The firm's investment into your training makes it financially untenable for you to transfer."

"Please. Dra - Mr. Malfoy. I can't do this," James says desperately, his eyes fixed on a point beyond Draco's shoulder. He can still see, out of the corner of his eye, when a muscle jumps in Draco's jaw.

"I said no, Potter. Now get back to work."

"Fine, then. I quit," James declares.

"Quit if you must," Draco shrugs. "Good luck finding somewhere to complete your training without a reference."

"You - " James bites the inside of his cheek hard, the sting of pain grounding him. "Why are you doing this?" he blurts out, desperate and heartfelt.

"Because I think you should stay," Draco snaps, and James feels a traitorous flare of hope; he's rarely heard Draco so impassioned before.

But no. James can't do this again. Because there will never be a different outcome. Draco will always go home to his wife, and James will always end up alone.

"There are – other jobs," he says, his voice thick.

He makes it to Teddy's – just.

Once again, he's curled up in the corner of the room when Teddy gets home, the television silent and blank this time.

"James," Teddy says gently, and James realises Teddy's sunk to the floor by his side again, knees drawn up, mirroring James's posture. "You have to tell me what's wrong."

"I - " James chokes, pressing his knuckles against his eyes.

"Oh, Jamie," Teddy sighs, and he wraps his too-long arms around James hauling him close and pressing a kiss into his hair, rocking him a little as if he was a baby. Teddy sounds genuinely distressed at the state James is in, but James feels...James feels...

Wrecked.

"Oh, God. Fuck. Teddy, I've been so stupid," James says and then out of nowhere, tears explode into his eyes.

"Jamie..."

"Don't," James begs, wriggling out of Teddy's arms. "Don't, don't, don't. Don't be nice to me, okay, I'll lose it." He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment, takes a couple of deep breaths. "Okay," he says. "I'm okay."

"James," Teddy says flatly, and it's a tone James recognises all too well. Everyone in his family seems to have mastered it. It's a tone that says any second now I'm going to go from worried to pissed off and you really don't want that to happen. "Talk to me," Teddy orders, and James nods, steeling himself.

"I – me and Draco – Mr. Malfoy. We had – " an affair, James's mind screams. "A – thing."

"A thing?" Teddy asks blankly, and James gives him a tiny, guilty glance that probably tells Teddy all he needs to know. "Oh, God, James. Tell me it's not what I'm thinking."

"I – yeah," James says, nodding miserably.

"What?" Teddy asks, covering his eyes with his hand for a moment. "God, James..."

"I know," James says, digging his fingers into his hair. "Don't - "

"He's married!"

"Don't say it."

"He's got a son your age, hasn't he? James, what the fuck were you thinking?"

"I just - he would say - these things..." Good job, Potter. Well argued. You're gorgeous I want you I can't get enough.

"Oh, let me guess," Teddy says scathingly. "She doesn't understand him, they sleep in separate rooms, he'd leave her if he could but the timing just isn't right."

"Teddy!" James chokes out, unable to say that no, actually, Draco has never told him anything like that. Draco has never promised him anything. James is the stupid kid who fell in love.

"I'm sorry," Teddy says more gently. "I'm sorry, James, but you have to know...that's bullshit."

"It's not - "

"It is. It's the kind of bullshit that married men tell gullible idiots all the time."

"No. It wasn't – like that."

"Then what the hell was it like?" Teddy demands, but his voice has softened a bit at the distress James can't hide. "Huh?"

"It was – I was – stupid," James says. "I wanted too much."

"Do you hear yourself?" Teddy demands. "You wanted too much? How'd he get you thinking that way, huh? That son of a bitch, I ought to – "

"Teddy! It's not his fault. I just – love him," he says, and the words are out there, and it feels good in the same way picking a scab feels good. "I just love him, okay?"

"God, James," Teddy sighs, holding his arms out to James. "Come here."

James holds out for all of five seconds before he collapses into the embrace, closing his eyes and trying to breathe steadily.

Without work, and without Draco, James doesn't know what to do, so largely he does nothing. Most of the books he has in the flat are to do with law. They're useless to him now anyway, but even if he wanted to read them for some sick, self-hating reason, he hears the words in Draco's voice, has done for ages now, and that would just be too much. Likewise, he can't read the newspaper without imagining Draco's take on the stories of the day, can't focus long enough to watch television without thinking that they never did this, and they should have. He should have had a chance, just once, to see Draco relaxed and out of his element, curled on the sofa in front of a stupid Muggle film that Draco wouldn't understand and James would have to explain in a half-arsed kind of way because he doesn't really get it either.

Everything, every single thing, seems to lead back to Draco, and James knows it's not healthy. It can't last. Two weeks in, he steels himself and pulls the bracelet from where it's been languishing in a drawer since a few days after it all happened. Without meaning to, he thinks one last time, as he clicks it closed around his wrist, and he has to stop for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. Then he Apparates, half expecting that the wards will have been changed and he'll end up on his arse in the middle of a Mayfair street, looking like he hasn't slept or shaved in days.

Instead he ends up in the dark living room. He doesn't need light to find his way to the small table, so he doesn't bother to cast a Lumos. He doesn't want to see this place, where he's had some of the maddest, happiest times of his life, doesn't want to know if anything is different. He opens the drawer, takes off the bracelet, drops it inside, and Apparates home.

It's just a stupid gesture, and he learns in the days that follow that gestures really don't help at all.

James is mostly glad for Teddy, really he is. He comes over every night after he finishes work, and he never really tries to get James to talk about anything, or go out anywhere (Danny has noticed and is getting more and more annoyed at James's sudden anti-social tendencies) or to look for employment (three weeks in, and his mum is already going spare). Instead, they just sit on the sofa and depending on what time Teddy gets there, they either cook dinner or order something in. Most of the time they watch one of Teddy's endless supply of Muggle films (Teddy commentating and James drifting in and out, trying to keep up), and sometimes they listen to the radio. They don't talk beyond the necessary.

But they don't have to talk for James to hear the judgement in Teddy's voice, and that's why he's only mostly glad. Not judgement of James, unless he's judging him for being an idiot which, in all honesty, would be fair. It's the judgement of Draco that stings, the way that he just knows Teddy blames Draco for everything.

By now, James doesn't blame him for anything, but he can't help a vague, undirected sense of resentment. He always knew it would come to an end at some point. He'd never, even for a second, harboured any illusions about a happily-ever-after just for the two of them, and anyway, he couldn't be...that person. The one who breezes into a family and blows it apart.

The resentment is because...well. He feels like they didn't get as much as they could have from their time together. They could have had longer, more, better. And alright, maybe he does resent Draco, just a tiny little bit, for not...for not talking to him more. Because James is almost certain that what they had was real and meant something to Draco. Almost certain that he'd been something more to him than what Teddy seems to think - young, good looking, wide-eyed, naive, convenient. Almost certain that Draco cared.

But he's only almost certain, and sometimes he's unable to resist torturing himself with the possibilities. Maybe he really was just a stupid kid, maybe he was just one in a long line of pretty young things to distract Draco from the monotony of everyday life. And maybe Draco really doesn't care, doesn't miss him at all, hasn't spared him a moment's thought.

The idea is terrible, makes him feel even worse than he did before, something he hadn't thought was possible. Because to feel so wrecked by the end of a relationship - well, it'd still be shitty, but to feel this way over...essentially nothing? That's just pathetic.

Still, though. He's almost certain, and he supposes that has to be enough, now.

On a blessedly numb night like any other James is in the kitchen trying to decide whether to attempt a meal for two using three eggs, a sausage and two pieces of bread or to order something in when he hears a knock at the door.

"I've got it," Teddy yells. "Get on with my dinner, shorty."

"Ta," James yells back, turning to the bunch of takeaway menus in the drawer. He leafs through them for a few moments and when he gets back to the living room he can hear Teddy saying something, his voice tight and quiet, but he doesn't move towards the front door until he hears a reply. He can't make out the words, but he would know the tone anywhere, the pace and the cadence, the perfect rhythm. James is at the door before he even has time to think.

Teddy is blocking the door easily with his lanky body, leaning against the frame, with his arm across the opening in the door, like he's just waiting to slam it shut in Draco's face. And, yeah. Draco. James just stares. There's not a single thing off about his appearance - he's impeccable, impossibly perfect, and James can feel his throat going dry. Something doesn't feel right though. Maybe it's just because Draco is standing in his doorway, but James can almost convince himself that Draco is hiding tight lines of tension around his eyes.

"I need to talk to you," Draco says, looking past Teddy as though he isn't there.

"James," Teddy says heavily and James turns to him.

"Please, Teddy," he says. Please go, please don't tell anyone, please forgive me.

"James."

"Please."

Teddy groans quietly and shakes his head sharply. "You know where I'll be," he says, the 'when he hurts you again' going unspoken and James nods hastily, just wanting him out.

As Teddy leaves, he barges Draco with his shoulder and, with no attempt at volume control, as though it's just casual conversation, says, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you know that?"

James closes his eyes because God damn it. If that's what Teddy will say in front of James, what must he have said before, when James was out of earshot?

"Come through," James says, his throat dry, and Draco steps through the door, allowing James to shut it (and lock it, and ward it, because Draco is right there, they're alone, James supposes it's sort of a reflex). He leads Draco along the short hallway and into the living room before turning to face him.

"I'm sorry about – that," James says, waving a hand vaguely. Sorry about Teddy, sorry he wants what's best for me, sorry you're not it.

"That was...?"

"Teddy," James says, and he feels abruptly guilty. Oh God, had Draco thought that he and Teddy...? "My Godbrother. I'm sorry about him. Again." Another thought occurs to him, even worse than Draco wondering if he's messing around with other people already. "I shouldn't have told him, but I - "

Unimportant, he realises suddenly. Completely unimportant, because Draco is standing in his flat. In his flat. Of all the places, all the stolen moments, they've never been here together, and Draco looks out of place, like he's too big for the modest, cosy – really quite messy, James realises with a flare of embarrassment - room.

"What are you doing here?" James asks, the words trembling on their way out of his throat.

"I want you to come back," Draco says, and James feels his heart turn over.

"To work?"

"To work, to me. Whatever you want. I just..." Draco stops, his jaw tight.

"What?" James whispers.

"I miss you," Draco says quietly.

"I miss you, too," James says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. "Oh God, so much."

"Scorpius is going to study abroad," Draco says, and James blinks. "I – my work could start keeping me longer hours," Draco suggests. "Overnight."

James catches on, shakes his head reflexively, but Draco continues.

"We could have weeks," he says. "Whole weeks at the flat, just..."

"It's not about having your time," James says weakly, because that...that sounds so good. Weeks. Whole weeks where they could go to work together, go home together. Oh God, it sounds good. "I don't care if I only see you for five minutes a day, as long as you - "

"As long as I what?" Draco asks.

"Do you - " love me - "care about me?" James asks. "Even a little bit?"

"James," Draco says, closing his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, they fix on James unerringly. "More than a little bit," he says. "More than I should. Don't you know that?"

James can't hold himself back any longer, practically Apparating across the gap between them, he moves so fast. He can feel himself falling, can feel his heart cracking open wide, letting Draco back in to every inch of it. His hands close clumsily around fistfuls of Draco's robes and he presses himself close even as he holds Draco tight against him.

"I missed you," James says again, or maybe they both say it, and then Draco is kissing James, kissing him hard, kissing him like he doesn't mean to stop.

lost infidelity
we've never said a word
so black and white, you see
it's all the lies we've heard
in my mind, nothing makes sense
i'm nothing you can't have