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Harry Potter had learned, over the years, that dread came in many forms.
Sometimes it arrived on dragon wings. Sometimes it spoke with the soft certainty of prophecy. And sometimes - most insidiously - it came as official parchment with signature and seal of his boss.
"Absolutely not," he said as Robards handed him the paperwork for his new order to be an Auror trainer again.
Robards didn’t bother looking up. He had already anticipated this reaction. "You’re the most qualified."
Harry scoffed, folding his arms tightly across his chest, as if bracing himself against something unseen. "That doesn’t mean I should be responsible for someone else’s mistakes."
Robards’ quill paused. "You won’t be responsible for his mistakes," he said evenly. "You’ll be responsible for keeping him alive."
Harry stiffened.
"He’s being hired as a trainee," Robards continued. "Think of him as an consultant-in-training. His record regarding dark artifacts and curses is exceptional."
Exceptional, yes - but paper credentials had never stopped a curse from tearing through your flesh.
"Malfoy’s never worked in the field!" Harry said. "His record is purely theoretical. As far as we know he knows everything, but can do nothing."
Robards finally looked at him. "That’s why he needs an qualified trainer like you."
Harry didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The weight had already settled in his chest, familiar and unwelcome: responsibility, sharp as a blade.
Draco Malfoy stood in the Auror Office like a man being measured for a noose.
Every eye felt evaluative. Every whisper sounded like judgment. He wore his composure like armor - tailored, polished, and deliberately immaculate - because it was the only thing he had absolute control over.
Trainee, they’d said.
As if he hadn’t rewritten half the Department’s current understandings and protocols of curse work. As if he were a student again, waiting for permission to speak.
When Harry Potter’s voice cut across the room, Draco felt it before he saw him.
Potter.
The sight of him - older, broader, carrying his authority with an unconscious ease - hit Draco harder than expected. For one unguarded moment, surprise flickered through him. Then resentment snapped into place, quick and precise.
Of course it would be Potter!
"Malfoy," Harry said, already sounding tired of him.
Draco inclined his head with exaggerated politeness. "Potter. I assume you’ll be explaining why I require supervision from someone whose greatest qualification is surviving long enough to be promoted."
Harry sighed and turned on his heel walking back to his office. "I’ll be explaining why you listen to me."
Draco bristled instantly. He had expected hostility. He had not expected command. And still he followed Harry instantly.
"I am not one of your minions," Draco said coolly. "My expertise - "
" - doesn’t mean anything if you don’t make it home," Harry interrupted.
The words landed wrong.
To Draco, they sounded condescending. Paternal. Like pity.
To Harry, they were blunt fact - born of scars, funerals, and the memory of hands he hadn’t reached in time.
"Also… You‘re a trainee. Which puts you even below my minions in the chain of command."
Draco screamed internally. They didn‘t even reach Harry‘s office and Draco already wished that he would have stayed in his bougy position of star researcher and author. But… he was here - seeking field work and adventure. Was this a midlife crisis? He was too young for that for sure.
"You think I don’t understand danger?" Draco snapped, his pride flaring hot and defensive. "I lived it."
Harry held his gaze, unyielding. "You survived it. That’s not the same thing."
In Harry‘s office the tension was coiled tight as wire.
Harry laid out protocols with the thoroughness of someone who had learned the cost of shortcuts. Entry spells. Fallback positions. Exit strategies. He spoke carefully, watching Draco out of the corner of his eye.
Draco listened with clenched restraint.
Every instruction felt like an accusation. Every warning felt personal. He knew these principles - he had invented some of them, he had taught versions of them, theorized them, refined them - but Harry spoke as though Draco were a insurance waiting to happen.
When Draco interrupted, it was reflexive. Defensive.
"Do not interrupt me. Listen," Harry admonished.
"I was clarifying," he said coolly.
"You were undermining," Harry replied, already irritated - and already worried, though he refused to name it.
Draco tilted his chin. "You know I wrote not a few of those very principles you‘re explaining to me, right?"
Harry leaned back, studying him now with open scrutiny. Brilliant, yes. Controlled. But too sharp around the edges. Like a blade that had never been tested against bone.
"Yes," Harry answered, voice low, "And I have lived them. I tested them day in day out. Out there - in the field. For you they might be theory and knowledge. But for me… they‘re instinct."
Draco rolled his eyes. He could feel Harry wasn‘t finished with praising himself - so he kept quiet.
"So if I tell you to step back," Harry said, and leaned forward again, "you step back."
Draco’s fingers curled slightly against the table. "And if your instincts are wrong?"
Harry didn’t hesitate. "Then it’s my fault."
The certainty in his voice gave Draco pause.
Harry wasn’t claiming authority for its own sake. He was claiming blame.
"I’m responsible for you," Harry added quietly.
Draco looked away first.
Responsibility had always been a weapon used against him. He didn’t know what to do with it when it sounded like protection.
When the briefing got ended by their first mission, Draco left the room with measured steps, his spine straight, his composure intact by sheer force of will.
Harry watched him go, unease curling in his gut.
Draco Malfoy was clever. Dangerous in the way untested things often were. He carried his arrogance like a shield, and Harry knew better than anyone how easily shields cracked under pressure.
He’s going to push too far, Harry thought grimly. And I’ll be the one standing there when it happens.
Draco, meanwhile, walked away seething.
Potter thought he could command him. Thought experience trumped intellect. Thought Draco Malfoy needed saving.
I will not be managed, Draco told himself fiercely. I will not be diminished.
Both of them clueless to how closely their thoughts circled the same truth: That this partnership would not survive indifference. And that, whether they liked it or not, Harry wanted Draco to stay unharmed and Draco liked that worry in Harry‘s deep eyes.
Once they left the ministry - the first thing Draco Malfoy learned about the field was that the weather was not the Auror’s friend.
Rain slicked the cobblestones of Knockturn Alley, turning the narrow passage into a treacherous ribbon of shadow and reflective stone. The air smelled wrong - metallic, sharp with old magic that had soaked into the brickwork and never quite faded.
Draco catalogued it all automatically. Ambient residue. Lingering curse decay. Traces of blood magic, old and poorly scrubbed.
Fascinating.
Harry Potter noticed something else entirely.
He noticed how Draco stood too stiff, eyes fixed on the cursed shopfront ahead of them. How he failed to check the alley mouth behind them. How his attention narrowed, brilliant and dangerous in its focus.
"Stay behind me," Harry said, low and firm.
Draco bristled instantly.
"I can see perfectly well from here," he replied, irritation threading his voice. "If the artifact destabilized, it’ll be centered just beyond the threshold. The thaumic distortion - "
"Behind me," Harry repeated.
Draco obeyed with an eye roll - but only by half a step. Enough to say he’d complied. Not enough to surrender ground.
Harry felt it like a pulled wire in his chest.
The object they found itself was unassuming: a tarnished silver mirror mounted crookedly on the back wall of the shop, its surface faintly warped. The curse clung to it like breath on glass, pulsing subtly.
Draco’s pulse quickened.
He knew this pattern. Knew this curse. Nasty, but elegant. It was an Lacrimosa Veritas trapped in this mirror.
"Don’t get close yet," Harry warned, wand already in hand.
"I don’t need proximity," Draco said sharply. "The curse matrix is visible from here if you know how to - "
The mirror vibrated.
Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just enough.
Draco stepped forward without thinking.
It was instinct - not field instinct, but academic reflex. Observe. Adjust. Intervene.
Harry moved faster.
"Don‘t!" Harry shouted.
He caught Draco by the shoulder and hauled him back just a heartbeat before Draco looked at his own reflection.
The force of it slammed Draco into Harry’s chest.
For a split second, everything froze.
Harry felt Draco’s heartbeat - too fast. Draco felt Harry’s grip - iron, unyielding, unmistakably real.
Then Harry shoved him back.
"What did I say?" Harry snapped.
Draco stared at him, breath sharp, humiliation flooding hot and immediate. "How should I know that the curse would get activated by loo-"
"I told you not to move!" Harry shouted, "I had a reason to tell you that!"
"The situation was under control."
Harry laughed, short and incredulous. "You don‘t know how quickly things can get out of control."
The mirror cracked further, the curse destabilizing now that it had tasted interference. Harry turned away first, barking a containment spell that sealed it off in shimmering wards.
Draco stood uselessly behind him, hands clenched, every nerve screaming.
No one had ever pulled him back like that. No one had ever assumed he needed it.
They glared at eachother angrily before Harry neutralized the curse and then securly packed the mirror.
The shop was silent except for the rain tapping faintly against the windows.
Harry exhaled slowly, grounding himself the way years of near-misses had taught him to. Only then did he turn back to Draco.
"You don’t move unless I say you move," he said, quieter now. "Not because you’re stupid. But because the field doesn’t care how many books you‘ve read."
Draco’s jaw tightened. "You embarrassed me."
Harry blinked. "I saved you from incredible pain."
"It was humiliating!"
"You know what would‘ve been humiliating? Screaming and crying infront of me as you relive your most painful memories in absolut clarity. Because that‘s what would have happened if that curse would‘ve hit you."
"Oh! Look at Mr. Potter - his field experience helped him identify one of the most basic dark curses there is," Draco shot back.
"Yes. I identified it," Harry said calmly. "But more importantly… I‘ve been hit by this curse before. I know how it feels. And as it seems - I don‘t even wish it upon my enemies. Otherwise I would‘ve - " Harry swallowed and hesitated.
"I will not be handled like fragile glass," Draco said coldly.
Harry looked at him then - really looked. Pale, furious, pride bruised raw. Still shaking slightly, though he didn’t seem to realize it.
"You’re not fragile," Harry said. "You’re inexperienced. There’s a difference."
On the walk back to the ministry, silence stretched thick between them.
Harry replayed the moment again and again in his mind - the flash of magic, Draco stepping forward, the sick lurch in his gut as he’d realized he might be too slow.
That fear unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
Draco, meanwhile, catalogued his own reactions with clinical precision.
The surge of adrenaline. The helplessness. The fury at being overpowered - not magically, but physically. And beneath it all, an unsettling awareness of how easily Harry had moved him. How naturally he’d taken control.
I won’t make that mistake again, Draco told himself fiercely.
But the truth lingered, unwelcome and sharp:
The field had not tested his knowledge.
It had tested his restraint.
And he had failed.
"I‘ll take care of the documentation. You should go home, Malfoy," Harry said once they were back at his office, "See you tomorrow."
Draco looked at him and hesitated for a second. "See you tomorrow."
Draco did go home. But only to shrug off his coat with more force than necessary and tossing it over a chair before reaching his floo in three short paces.
He grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the silver bowl, stepped inside and threw it into the flames with a sharp flick of his wrist.
"Pansy Parkinson," he snapped.
Green fire roared up obediently, resulting in him standing in Pansy’s familiar drawing room. Pansy herself appeared a second later, perfectly coiffed, glass of something expensive in hand.
"Oh hello Draco!" she exclaimed smiling, „Blaise, baby, Draco‘s come for a visit!"
She took another look at Draco’s face and her smile slowly died.
"Oh," she said. "This is that kind of a vist."
Draco closed his eyes for a heartbeat and stepped out of the floo to sit down on one of the sofas.
"Blaise! Hurry. Draco’s glaring at me like he’s one insult away from murder," Pansy shouted in the general direction of their bedroom.
A moment later, Blaise Zabini appeared. "Draco," he drawled. "You look like someone just insulted your tailoring."
Draco leaned his face on his hands. "My first day was a catastrophe."
Pansy’s brows shot up. "Already? That’s efficient, even for you."
"They put me with Potter, so it‘s not really my fault," Draco spat.
Blaise let out a low whistle. "Ah. The Chosen Menace himself."
"He treated me like - like an idiot," Draco continued, words spilling now that he’d started. "Explaining basic field protocol as though I hadn’t written half of it. Ordering me around. Physically manhandling me."
Pansy leaned closer. "Physically?" A cocky smile appeared on her face.
"He grabbed me," Draco said stiffly. "Pulled me back like a reckless first-year who’d wandered too close to a cursed artifact."
Blaise blinked. "You wandered too close to a cursed artifact, didn’t you?"
Draco scowled. "That is not the point."
Pansy tilted her head, assessing. "Come on, Draco. In other situations you like being manhandled. You told us time and time again."
Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. He came to his friends in a moment of need - and all they did was make fun of him?
The pause stretched.
"Oh, Merlin," Pansy chuckled. "Please continue."
"He was insufferable," Draco snapped. "All instincts and scars and that infuriating martyr calm. ‘Listen to me.’ ‘Stay behind me.’ ‘I’m responsible for you.’" He mimicked Potter’s voice with venom. "As if I asked him to be."
Blaise’s lips twitched. "You hate being protected?"
"I hate being undermined!"
"You hate being vulnerable," Pansy corrected gently, and then smirked. "So what happened?"
Draco looked away, jaw tight. "There was a cursed mirror. Lacrimosa Veritas. I recognized the matrix. I stepped forward to - "
"To look," Blaise finished.
"Yes," Draco said defensively. "And it activated. Potter dragged me back before I could - " He stopped.
Before I could see myself.
Before I could get cursed.
"He yelled," Draco continued more quietly. "Afterward. Told me he only saved me the humiliation of being cursed. That he‘s responsible for me and so on and so on…"
Pansy’s expression softened, just a fraction. "And were you yelling too?"
Draco laughed, sharp and humorless. "I wanted to hex him into next week."
"That’s a yes," Blaise said.
They were quiet for a moment.
"And the worst part," Draco added finally, voice low, "is that he wasn’t showing off. He wasn’t trying to embarrass me. But I - " Draco swallowed.
Pansy’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"You were embarrassed anyway," Blaise said.
Draco didn’t answer.
He rose to his feet abruptly. "This arrangement is untenable. I will not spend my days being treated like a liability by a man whose greatest talent is surviving disasters he blunders into."
Pansy lifted her glass in a mock toast. "Give it a week."
"I will not."
"You absolutely will," Blaise said lazily. "Because you’re stubborn, and because quitting would mean admitting the field rattled you."
Draco’s silence was confirmation enough.
Pansy smiled, sharp and knowing. "Also," she added, "you came to us the moment you got home."
Draco bristled. "I needed perspective."
"You needed witnesses," Blaise corrected. "To validate your outrage."
"And?" Draco demanded.
Pansy’s smile turned sly. "Oh, darling. He sounds unbearable," she said lazily, her voice dripping of sarcasm.
Draco rolled his eyes.
"And," she continued more serious, "he also sounds like someone who won’t let you get yourself killed."
Blaise hummed. "Which, historically, is a rare quality in people who spend time with you… Except for us of course."
Draco rolled his eyes. "You’re both impossible."
"Keep us updated," Pansy said brightly. "I want details. Preferably dramatic ones."
Draco straightened, smoothing his sleeve as if reclaiming some semblance of dignity. "Tomorrow," he said coolly, "I will prove that I do not need Potter’s instincts or his protection."
Blaise grinned. "And tomorrow evening, you’ll floo here again."
Draco huffed - and with a sharp gesture, stood up, said his goodbyes and flooed home again.
The next day they were called to a derelict townhouse on the edge of Diagon Alley, its wards rotting quietly from neglect. A family curse, inherited badly and fed worse. The kind that didn’t announce itself with spectacle, but sank its teeth in slowly.
Harry was even sharper now than yesterday - if that was even possible. He stood closer to Draco than before, positioning himself without comment, subtly blocking angles Draco hadn’t noticed.
"Don’t touch anything until I’ve cleared the perimeter," Harry said.
"I won’t," Draco replied coolly.
He meant it.
He also meant to prove he didn’t need reminding.
Inside, the magic pressed in close - claustrophobic, stale with old resentment. Draco catalogued again, faster this time. Ward bleed-through. Residual intent. A binding curse anchored deep in the foundation.
He knew how to dismantle this.
He should dismantle this.
"Harry," he said, carefully neutral, "the anchor point is structural. If we don’t disrupt it now, it’ll - "
"Explode - I know," Harry said. "Wait."
Draco waited.
And waited.
The delay grated. The curse pulsed - subtle, but escalating. Draco could feel it, vibrating just beneath his skin. What was he waiting for?
Harry was prioritizing protocol. Draco was prioritizing safety.
They were not the same thing.
"Someone needs to adjust the counter-ward," Draco said finally.
"Not yet."
Draco’s fingers curled.
"You’re wasting time."
Harry’s head snapped up. "I know what I‘m doing."
That - that tone again. That infuriating certainty.
Draco moved anyway.
Not recklessly. Not blindly. One careful step, wand lifting -
Harry grabbed him again.
Harder this time.
"Don’t," Harry growled.
The curse surged in response, reacting to raised voices, to conflict, to the exact emotional pressure neither of them was acknowledging.
Harry shoved Draco back behind a half-collapsed wall just as the air fractured, magic lashing outward in a concussive wave.
Plaster shattered. Wood splintered.
Silence followed.
Draco stood frozen, breath shallow, heart hammering violently against his ribs.
Harry stood between him and the wreckage, chest heaving.
Again.
When the curse was neutralized - clumsily, too expensively - they stood in the aftermath, dust settling around them like judgment.
Draco broke first.
"You should have neutralized that earlier," he said, voice tight. "I could‘ve neutralized that earlier."
"I told you to wait," Harry snapped back.
"You delayed until it reacted!"
"Because you keep pushing," Harry shot back. "You keep assuming you’re the smartest person in the room."
"Seems like I am the smartest person in the room," Draco said, heat finally cracking his composure. "And you hate that."
Harry stared at him, stunned - and then furious.
"I hate that you don’t know when to stop."
Draco laughed, sharp and humorless. "You hate that I don’t obey."
"That’s not the same thing."
"It is when you won’t explain the difference."
The words hung between them, electric.
Harry’s anger burned bright but underneath it churned something else. The memory of Draco’s body slamming into his chest. The split-second where Harry had genuinely thought this is it.
"I don’t need to explain myself," Harry said finally. "I need you alive."
Draco went very still.
There it was again. That assumption. That reduction.
Alive - but diminished. Alive - but managed.
"You don’t get to decide that for me," Draco said, "How am I supposed to learn anything by getting pushed away from you?"
Harry opened his mouth - and closed it again. Because part of him knew Draco was right.
They apparated back to the ministry.
Other Aurors noticed the silence. The distance. The way Draco’s jaw was locked too tight. The way Harry’s hands shook when he finally holstered his wand.
Neither commented on it.
But something fundamental had shifted.
"I‘ll show you how we book our missions," Harry said and walked with Draco back to his office.
Draco felt the tightness of his shoulders, in the way his magic refused to settle. He had been furious before - many times - but this was different. This was humiliation sharpened by fear he did not want to examine too closely.
"Paperwork. That‘s what I‘m good for?" Draco scoffed.
The office door shut with a decisive click.
That was enough.
"Of course not. It‘s just…" Harry wanted to explain.
"You do not grab and shove me like that," Draco interrupted immediately.
Harry looked up, already braced. "You do not ignore direct orders in an active cursed environment."
"I was right," Draco snapped. "And you know it."
"You were lucky."
Draco laughed, sharp and incredulous. "That’s rich, coming from you."
Harry pushed back from the table. "You think this is about being right? You think that matters when something goes wrong?"
"It matters when you refuse to listen!" Draco shot back. "You keep treating me like an unexploded artifact you’re waiting to contain."
Harry’s mouth tightened. "Because that’s exactly how you behave."
Draco stood. "No. You behave like I’m already dead."
The words landed harder than either of them expected.
Harry’s breath caught. Just barely.
"You don’t know what dead looks like," Harry said quietly. "Not like I do."
Draco flinched - and hated himself for it. He rallied immediately, anger rushing in to fill the gap.
"Don’t," he said. "Don’t use that. Not like it gives you the right to decide what risks I’m allowed to take."
"I’m not deciding your risks," Harry snapped. "I’m responsible for them."
"That’s the same thing," Draco hissed. "You hover. You interrupt. You physically overpower me like I’m incapable of making my own decisions. You do not teach. You do not train."
Harry’s temper snapped. "You are incapable," he shot back. "Not because you’re stupid - but because you don’t understand consequences. You don’t understand how fast people die out there."
Draco went very still.
"There it is," he said softly. "You think I’m playing."
Harry stared at him, chest heaving. "I think you’re reckless."
"I think you’re afraid," Draco countered immediately.
Silence crashed down between them.
Harry felt it then - how close Draco was standing. How bright his eyes were. How utterly unyielding.
Afraid.
The word scraped something raw inside him.
"I am not afraid," Harry said, too quickly.
Draco smiled, cold and precise. "You flinch every time I move without your permission."
"I flinch because you don’t check your surroundings."
"You flinch because you expect me to fail."
Harry’s voice rose. "Because you haven’t proven you won’t!"
Draco’s composure finally shattered.
"I am a trainee," he snapped. "I am not a child, and I am not one of your fallen soldiers you can project your guilt onto."
That - that - was the line.
Harry went pale. "You don’t get to talk about them."
"I get to talk about whatever you drag into the room with you," Draco said viciously. "You walk around like everyone near you is already a casualty. Like if you control them hard enough, you won’t have to watch them die."
Harry surged forward, crowding Draco back a step. "I have watched people die," he said, voice shaking now. "I have held them while they bled out because they thought they knew better."
Draco refused to step back. "And now you think you can keep me safe by treating me like a liability."
"I think," Harry said hoarsely, "that if you die on my watch…"
The words hung there - raw, unguarded, undeniable. The pause weighted even harder.
Draco stared at him.
"That is not my problem," Draco said coldly. "I will not make myself smaller so you can sleep at night."
Harry’s face hardened, the vulnerability snapping shut. "Then don’t," he said. "But don’t expect me to stop treating you like someone who doesn’t know when to stop."
"Fine," Draco said pressed.
"Fine," Harry repeated. "It‘s late. Let‘s go home."
Draco glared at him and disapparated without another word.
Harry did not go home. He finished the documentation and then went to the pub.
The King’s Head was loud in the familiar, comforting way - low ceilings, floating candles, the hum of conversation layered with clinking glasses and bursts of laughter. Ron and Hermione were already there when Harry arrived, seated at a corner table with drinks in hand.
Hermione took one look at him and sighed. "That bad?"
Harry dropped into the chair opposite them and dragged a hand through his hair. "He’s impossible."
Ron snorted. "Told you."
"He won’t listen," Harry continued, frustration spilling over now that he’d started. "He pushes every situation. Argues in active curse zones. Treats the field like a thought experiment instead of - " He cut himself off, jaw tight. "Instead of something that kills people."
Hermione listened carefully. "And you?"
Harry scoffed. "Apparently I hover. Apparently I don’t teach. Apparently I think he’s already dead."
Ron grimaced. "Ouch."
"I’m just trying to keep him alive," Harry said quietly. "That’s it."
Hermione opened her mouth to respond - then froze.
Harry followed her gaze.
Draco Malfoy sat in the far corner of the pub, long legs stretched out, posture deceptively relaxed. Blaise lounged beside him, nursing a drink, while Pansy leaned in close, animated and sharp-eyed.
Draco was laughing.
Something unpleasant twisted in Harry’s chest.
Ron noticed immediately. "Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."
Hermione muttered, "This is going to end badly."
As if summoned by the weight of Harry’s stare, Draco looked up.
Their eyes locked.
The smile slid off Draco’s face.
He stood.
Harry was already on his feet.
They met in the middle of the pub, tension snapping tight between them like a live wire.
"Well," Draco said coolly, eyes flicking to Hermione and Ron, "continuing the character assassination?"
Harry’s jaw clenched. "I’m talking about work."
"Funny," Draco replied. "So am I."
Ron stood abruptly. "Right, I’m getting another drink - "
"Sit down," Hermione hissed, without looking at him.
Harry stepped closer. "Just like the old times. Gossiping with your friends. Seems like that‘s all you‘re able to do."
Draco’s smile was razor-thin. "That‘s rich, coming from you."
"Why? Why exactly is that rich coming from me?" Harry‘s voice got louder, "Because it‘s so imcomprehensible that I don‘t want you to die on my watch?"
"Still with this act…"
Harry laughed sharply. "Enlighten me, Malfoy. If this is just an act, what‘s it really about then?"
"It‘s clearly about you not being able to give up control. Everything has to go according to your holy plan," Draco dismissed him.
"Honestly, boys, if you’re going to fight, at least make it entertaining," Pansy shouted through the pub and laughed.
"Their chemistry is undeniable…" Blaise whispered to her.
Draco didn’t look away from Harry.
"Shut it, Parkinson," Harry yelled.
"You don‘t get to talk to my friends like that," Draco threatened.
"You don’t get to undermine me in the field," Harry shot back unimpressed.
"You don’t get to manhandle me like I’m incapable!"
Several heads turned. The pub quieted.
Harry leaned in, voice low and furious. "You don’t stop. You don’t wait. You don’t think about what happens when you’re wrong."
Draco leaned in too, refusing to give ground. "And you don’t trust anyone who doesn’t obey you."
"That’s not - "
"You don’t teach," Draco snapped. "You command. You grab. You shove. You decide."
Harry’s hands curled at his sides. "Because I see the consequences when people don’t listen."
"And I see a man so afraid of loss that he’d rather cage everyone around him," Draco shot back. "You’re not protecting me. You’re controlling me."
The pub owner cleared his throat loudly. "Oi."
Neither of them heard him.
"You think I enjoy this?" Harry said, breathing hard. "You think I want to fight you every time we step into the field?"
Draco’s voice dropped, sharp and cutting. "Then why do you look at me like you’re daring me to defy you?"
That did it.
"Enough!" the owner barked. "Take it outside. Both of you. Now."
Harry didn’t argue.
Draco didn’t either.
They were halfway out the door before either of them realized they were moving in the same direction.
The night air hit them cold and sharp, rain slicking the cobblestones. The door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the noise, the witnesses.
Inside the pub Pansy sighed. Blaise and Ron tried to overcome the awkwardness as Hermione threw an apologetic smile towards Pansy.
"Let‘s just hope they fuck it out," Pansy laughed.
Blaise gave her a loving shove and said: "You‘re drunk, darling. They‘d never."
"This doesn’t solve anything," Harry said as soon as the door closed.
Draco turned on him, eyes blazing. "No," he agreed. "But neither does pretending this is about me being reckless."
Harry stepped closer. Too close. He could feel Draco’s magic buzzing, tight and restless.
"You don’t listen," Harry said loudly. His hair was already wet and Draco‘s white button down began sticking his skin.
"You scare the hell out of me," Harry continued.
Draco’s breath hitched - just barely - before anger rushed back in to cover it. "You don’t get to be afraid on my behalf."
Harry laughed, rough and breathless. "I already am. I‘m your superior and if you want to be successful in this job you‘ve got to accept the chain of command."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Draco shoved him.
Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to provoke.
"But I‘m not a child!" Draco yelled. "You might be my superior but foremost you are a god damn controlfreak!"
Harry grabbed him by the front of his coat, pushed him back till his back hit a wall, magic flaring hot and wild between them.
"You’re infuriating," Harry hissed.
"So are you," Draco shot back.
Their faces were inches apart. Breath mingled. The line between anger and something far more dangerous blurred completely.
"Let go," Draco said - and didn’t mean it.
Harry didn’t.
Draco surged forward instead, mouth crashing against Harry’s with all the pent-up fury neither of them had managed to say aloud.
It was not gentle.
It was all teeth and heat and hands gripping too tight - a kiss born from argument and adrenaline and tension snapping at once.
Harry kissed back without thinking, without restraint, hauling Draco closer as if the ground might drop out beneath them if he didn’t.
They broke apart only when they had to breathe.
"This is a mistake," Harry said hoarsely.
Draco laughed softly, breathless, eyes dark. Harry kissed him again. Harry loosened his grip on Draco‘s coat and put one of his hands on Draco‘s face. The other leaned against the rough brick wall behind them. Draco sighed into the kiss and Harry slipped their tongues over one another. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry‘s neck and pushed his chest flush against Harry‘s. A deep growl came from Harry.
"Let‘s take this home," he said and apparated both of them to his flat.
The materialized again in the bedroom and while Draco was still startled Harry already pushed him towards the bed.
Draco squealed and fell backwards on top of the soft matress. Harry leaned over him and kissed him again. Draco immediately wrapped his legs around Harry’s hip. This time he quickly moved on to Draco‘s neck - kissing, licking and nipping.
Draco sighed blissfully before he cleared his throat. "Be careful. I bruise easily."
"Oh no. We wouldn’t want that…" Harry mumbled sarcastically and nipped at Draco‘s earlobe, "Weren‘t you so keen on getting hurt all the time?" Harry continued his way with his lips and started to unbutton Draco‘s shirt.
"I don‘t want people to ta-alk-," Draco answered. His voice brittle from arousal as soft moans elicited from his throat. His hands lying uselessly over his head.
Harry mouthed at Draco‘s collarbone when he finally managed to open the shirt completely. His cold fingers dancing over Draco‘s chest and abdomen.
"No, no…" Harry mumbled gently, "We don‘t want people to talk." He slipped his tongue around Draco‘s left nipple. "Also… bruises would mean somebody… manhandled you."
Draco shivered and moaned quietly.
"Except of course you want that." Harry‘s teeth gently grazed over Draco‘s stiff nipple.
"Y-yes…," Draco sighed.
"Mhmm…" Harry nodded.
Then he sat back on the back of his feet. He pulled his own jumper and shirt off in a hurry, before quickly freeing Draco from his shirt. The clothes were still wet, making it unneccesarily harder to take them off.
Once he leaned down again both of them moaned at their naked upper bodies touching. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and stroke over his broad back. Harry pressed his crotch against Draco‘s feeling their bulges rub against each other.
"Fuck…," Harry hissed before he kissed Draco again. He gently bit Draco‘s lower lip, provoking another moan from him. "On your knees. At the bedside."
Draco grinned and without rebuttals he squirmed off the bed and kneeled next to it on the floor. His eyes were almost glued to Harry, who took his sweet time standing up, unbuckling his belt and pulling of his jeans and briefs.
Harry let Draco look.
He didn’t rush it. Didn’t posture. He stood there bare and solid and unapologetically real, chest still rising too fast from adrenaline and anger and everything that had cracked open between them. His cock was already hard, heavy in his hand as he wrapped his fingers around it, gaze never leaving Draco’s.
Draco swallowed.
Kneeling like this did something dangerous to him - stripped away layers he kept razor-sharp in his everyday life. Pride warred with desire, and desire won easily. His hands rested on his thighs, fingers flexing, magic buzzing low and needy under his skin.
Harry stepped closer.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice rougher now, stripped of command and edged with hunger. "So brilliant. So defiant. And kneeling exactly where I told you."
Draco’s lips parted. "You’re insufferable."
Harry smiled - slow, dark. "And you’re still here."
He stopped right in front of Draco, close enough that Draco could feel the heat of him, close enough that Harry’s cock brushed Draco’s cheek. Draco shuddered despite himself.
Harry lifted a finger, tilting Draco’s chin up.
"Eyes on me," he said quietly.
Draco obeyed.
The compliance hit harder than any argument ever had.
Harry’s thumb traced Draco’s lower lip, lingering. "You don’t stop," he said, softer now. "You rush forward because you hate feeling helpless."
Draco’s breath hitched. "Don’t psychoanalyze me while you’re about to - "
Harry cut him off by pressing his thumb into Draco’s mouth.
"Open."
Draco did.
Harry groaned - low and involuntary - when Draco’s lips closed around his thumb, tongue flicking experimentally. The sound tore something loose in Harry’s chest. He withdrew his thumb slowly, deliberately wet, and immediately replaced it with himself.
Draco froze for half a heartbeat - then leaned in.
He wrapped his mouth around Harry’s cock with reverent intent, lips warm and slick, tongue pressing experimentally along the underside. Harry sucked in a sharp breath, one hand flying to the wall, the other threading into Draco’s hair instinctively - not forcing, just grounding.
"Fuck," Harry breathed. "Just - just like that."
Draco hummed softly around him, vibration sending a jolt straight through Harry’s spine. He took him deeper, slowly, deliberately, hollowing his cheeks, eyes flicking up to watch Harry come undone.
And Harry was - already fraying.
The control he wielded in the field, the iron grip he kept on fear and instinct, it slipped through his fingers with every drag of Draco’s mouth. His grip tightened in Draco’s hair, not to push - never to push - but to anchor himself.
"Careful," Draco murmured when he pulled back briefly, voice smug and breathless. "You don’t want to lose control."
Harry laughed, breathless and wrecked. "You don’t get to say that."
Draco smirked - and took him deep in one smooth motion.
Harry swore loudly, hips jerking forward before he caught himself, knuckles white against the wall. "Merlin - Draco -"
Draco took his time. He learned Harry the way he learned curses - attentive, precise, adaptive. Where Harry twitched. Where his breath stuttered. How his magic flared every time Draco’s tongue pressed just right.
Harry tugged gently, coaxing Draco back up.
"Up," he said hoarsely. "Now."
Draco rose fluidly, lips swollen, eyes dark with want. Harry kissed him immediately, tasting himself on Draco’s tongue, the kiss slower now - deeper. He guided Draco to turn around, until his back leaned against Harry‘s chest.
Hands explored. Learned. Claimed.
Harry kissed Draco‘s shoulder. He pushed Draco’s trousers down with patient fingers, baring him inch by inch, reverence creeping into his touch despite himself.
"You still think I’m trying to cage you?" Harry asked quietly, arms wrapping around Draco’s hips and fingers wrapping around Draco‘s cock, stroking slow and deliberate.
Draco gasped, slowly thrusting into the touch. "Right now?" he panted. "I think you’re very committed to proving a point."
Harry smiled against his throat. "Good."
He slowly pushed Draco forwards.
"On your knees," he said and Draco obeyed.
Harry kissed down Draco‘s spine while he still slowly rubbed his fist over Draco‘s shaft. He mapped him with mouth and tongue, listened to every broken sound Draco made - sharp breaths, half-swallowed curses, the way his coherence splintered piece by piece.
When Harry‘s finally reached Draco‘s firm and perky ass, Draco shuddered.
"Oh - fuck - Harry - "
Harry hummed, pleased.
"Hands," he said, "Here."
Harry guided Draco‘s hands onto his own buttcheeks, leaving him leaned on his chest and spread wide open.
"Mhm… Yes. Just like that," Harry groaned at the sight of Draco’s tight hole.
Harry smiled as he leaned forward and let the tip of his tongue slip over the ridges of Draco‘s closed muscles.
Draco squealed into the mattress, which only made Harry‘s cock twitch and pre-cum pearl on his tip.
Harry closed his eyes and burried his face between Draco‘s asscheeks. He pressed his tongue against the muscles, massaged them, kissed them, licked them. Ultimately he softened the muscles piece by piece until his tongue tip could slip inside.
"Fuck!" Draco squealed, "Please, Harry!"
Harry chuckled and Draco could feel Harry‘s warm breath on his sensitive skin. Harry kept going, pushing and swirling his tongue around - licking from the tip of Draco‘s dick up over his ass and his crack.
"Merlin. Ha-Harry." Draco whimpered.
Harry sat back on the back of his feet and caught his breath. His thumb toying with the twitching loose muscles of Draco‘s hole.
"I‘m going to fuck you," Harry almost announced. Draco shuddered at this prospect. "Question is… Do you want to come in my mouth with my fingers up your ass first. Or do you need my cock so bad you want it now?"
Draco moaned and burried his face in Harry‘s mattress.
"Come on now. Your not usually this quiet," Harry teased him and spat against Draco‘s hole, smearing it around with his thumb.
"I need your cock," Draco whined.
Harry smirked. "Okay." He spat onto his cock before finally aligning with Draco‘s ass. Draco moaned at the feeling of Harry‘s hard tip stroking his hole. Slowly every so slowly Harry pushed through the softened muscles.
"Fuck. You feel amazing around my cock," he moaned and leaned his head back.
Draco grabbed the bed sheet with his fists. Harry casually held Draco by his hips as he slipped out again. Draco‘s asshole twitched almost close again as Harry left Draco empty after just one thrust.
"Harry!" Draco cried out, "Please!"
"Okay, okay," Harry mumbled and pushed back in, groaning deep in his chest.
"Fuck yes," Draco moaned as Harry finally started building up a rhythm. He thrust in and out of Draco‘s ass, holding onto Draco‘s hips and buttcheeks tightly. "Faster!"
Harry chuckled. "If that is what you want…"
He sped up his rhythm, until he roughly fucked Draco, hitting his prostate with every thrust.
Harry could feel his own orgasm built already. But more importantely - he felt Draco‘s built too. Right then he decided to mix it up - he wanted to taste Draco.
When Harry pulled himself out of Draco again, the blond whined.
"What the -" he wanted to complain.
"On your back," Harry said and gently slapped Draco‘s ass. Draco turned immediately and squealed happily as Harry dove right into it, lapping and kissing at Draco‘s dick. "Open your legs some more." Harry pushed two fingers into Draco‘s ass almost immediately and at the same time swallowed Draco‘s shaft down his throat.
Draco put his hands on Harry‘s head.
"Nah-ah!" Harry rebuked him, "No touching."
Draco whined out of frustration and decided to put his hands behind his back - otherwise he could never withstand touching Harry.
Harry let Draco‘s dick dip into his throat again and again in the same rhythm his fingers brushed against Draco‘s prostate. Harry pushed a third finger in as well and Draco buckled his hips, pressing deeper into Harry‘s mouth.
"Please," Draco sighed, "Please, Harry."
Harry let his tongue slip slither expertly on the underside of Draco‘s dick as he felt the vibrations of Draco‘s orgasm rush. Draco threw his head back and as his hot cum spurted into Harry‘s mouth he couldn‘t withstand it anymore and burried both of his hands in Harry‘s hair, holding him close, until his orgasm was definitely over.
After Harry swallowed every last drop he mumbled: "My turn," and quickly moved till he kneeled above Draco‘s chest, his cock hovering over Draco‘s face again.
Draco hungrily tried to catch the beads of pre-cum with his tongue. Harry put one of his hands on the back of Draco‘s head, supporting him. With the other hand he started to jerk off, while Draco‘s tongue and lips toyed with his tip.
"Fuck. Draco!" Harry growled. With a loud sighed "Yesss…" he came into Draco’s mouth, but also on the rest of his face.
Draco looked beautiful - used up and with Harry‘s cum all over his read and sweaty face. Draco licked around his lips, trying to catch more of Harry‘s cum, before Harry cast a quick refreshment spell while kissing Draco and then fell next to Draco into the mattress.
They both took several minutes to catch their breaths. For a long while, neither of them spoke.
The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow from the streetlamp outside the window. Rain traced thin lines down the glass, soft and steady, like the world had decided to keep breathing whether they were ready for it or not.
Harry lay on his back, one arm flung awkwardly over his eyes.
Draco lay beside him, very still.
The silence wasn’t comfortable - but it wasn’t hostile either. It was dense. Heavy with things neither of them had ever practiced saying out loud.
Harry was the first to move.
He lowered his arm and stared at the ceiling, jaw tight. His chest rose and fell slowly now, no longer ragged. The anger was gone. The fear wasn’t.
Draco shifted minutely, as if testing whether the moment would break if he did anything more than breathe.
It didn’t.
That somehow made it worse.
"You don’t get to do that," Draco said at last.
Harry didn’t look at him. "Do what?"
"Take me apart," Draco replied quietly. "And then don‘t speak."
That landed.
Harry closed his eyes.
"I’m comprehending," he said, voice rough. "I just… don’t know what I’m allowed to say yet."
Draco turned his head, studying Harry’s profile in the half-light. The familiar sharpness was gone from his expression. In its place was something more cautious. More honest.
"I mean - I just gave prove that you‘re totally right and that I am a crazy control freak."
Draco chuckled. "As much as I love hearing that I‘m right - those aren‘t the same thing - but they’re not unrelated either."
Harry swallowed.
"No," he agreed. "They’re not."
Another stretch of silence.
Harry rolled onto his side finally, propping himself up on one elbow. He didn’t reach for Draco. That felt important.
"I don’t see you as fragile," he said. "I know you don’t believe me. But I don’t."
Draco’s mouth curved faintly - not quite a smile. "You treat me like something that might explode."
Harry exhaled through his nose. "Because you do."
Draco huffed a soft laugh. "And you treat yourself like the blast shield."
"Because I am," Harry admitted.
That earned him a look.
Harry’s gaze was steady now. Tired. Stripped bare of authority.
"I grew up as the savior, the chosen one, who‘d sacrifice himself for the greater good," Harry explained. "You‘re really surprised that I have a martyr complex?"
Draco didn’t immediately respond. When he did, his voice was calmer than Harry had ever heard it. "That‘s teenager crap. We‘re adults now. If I‘m getting hurt because I‘m stupid and reckless, than that‘s my fault - not yours."
"So you admit, that you are reckless!" Harry gasped.
Draco chuckled. "Let‘s say I‘m curious by nature."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I still don‘t know how to stop controlling everything. But I promise - I don’t want you smaller. I just… don’t know how to stand next to you without reaching out."
Draco looked at him then - really looked.
"That," he said softly, "is not the same as control."
Harry nodded once. "I know. I didn’t before."
Draco shifted closer - not touching, but nearer. Enough that Harry felt the heat of him.
"And I don’t want to be protected," Draco added. "But I want to be considered."
Harry met his gaze. "I can learn to do that."
They sat with that promise - unspoken, unfinished, terrifying in its simplicity.
"And until you learn to do that - how about you collect all your frustration with me and then focus all of your control freak to the bedroom? "
Harry chuckled. "Deal."
Eventually, Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. He retrieved his briefs from the floor, slipping them on slowly. Reassembling himself.
Harry watched him without comment.
"I’m still angry," Draco said.
"I know," Harry replied.
"And this doesn’t fix what happened in the field."
"No," Harry agreed. "But it changes how I listen."
Draco paused at the door, hand resting on the frame. He looked at Harry while he spoke.
"Tomorrow," he said, "you explain why you wait."
Harry nodded. "And you explain why you rush."
A beat.
Draco inclined his head. "Deal."
The door closed softly behind him.