Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Harry, Draco/Astoria, Harry/Ginny, background Ron/Hermione, mention of Draco/OMCs
Rating: eventual NC-17
Word Count: ~1,800/~37,000
Content/Warnings: post-war, post-hogwarts, auror Harry, professional Seeker Draco, blow jobs, fingering, first time, anal sex, rimming, intergluteal sex, comeplay, switching, fuck buddies, epilogue-compliant
Summary: More than a year after the end of the war, fate seems intent on pushing Harry and Draco together.
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Previous Chapter on LJ
Draco looked around the crowded restaurant, ignoring the flip in his belly as he caught sight of Potter's messy black hair. Potter's gaze caught his and his face creased into a small smile as he waved Draco over.
"Twice in one month, Potter. I am beginning to think you don't have any real friends."
"Shove off, Malfoy. I've been dying to try the chips here. I've heard they're amazing."
"What could possibly be so amazing about them? They're chips. Everywhere has chips."
Potter rolled his eyes. "That's why we're here. To find out."
Draco looked at the menu dubiously. "I don't think my trainer would be thrilled to hear I'm loading up on fried foods…"
"Oh come on, Malfoy, live a little!" Draco raised his brows, and Potter sighed dramatically. "Fine. But don't think you're going to get away with nicking any of mine. You stick to your lettuce, and I'll stick to my delicious, delicious carbs."
Potter grinned, and the smile lit up his face. He looked good sitting there with his windblown hair, tight blue jumper, and sparkling green eyes. Draco hated that he noticed. He hated how he could feel his cheeks heating up under Potter's gaze.
The waitress arrived and Draco gratefully ordered, sticking to a salad and hoping it would be palatable. This place did not exactly look like the kind of establishment where one could expect fresh produce. It was small, discreet, and Muggle though, so Draco was not complaining. He may miss the fine dining at La Magia in Diagon Alley, but these days the service there was less than satisfactory...if you were a Malfoy, at least. Draco figured Potter had his own reasons for avoiding popular wizarding restaurants.
They generally stayed away from heavier topics when they met, sticking to Quidditch and work and the weather. If he was honest, Draco was not quite sure why Potter kept owling him. Every time they met up, Draco expected it to be the last time. But a week or two later, Potter's eagle owl would come swooping in with a hastily scrawled invitation. Draco figured it was the novelty of it all that kept Potter entertained. That, and the secrecy.
"So, if the chips here are so good, why aren't you here with Weasley and Granger?"
Potter gave him a strange look. "I don't actually go everywhere with them, you know. We do lead separate lives."
Draco snorted, doing his best to look innocent when Potter glared. "Of course." He flashed Potter a mocking smile. "I don't suppose they know you are here with me."
Potter's cheeks turned red and he looked away, biting his lip. That's what Draco thought.
"I, erm, no?"
"Are you asking me or telling me?"
Potter fiddled with his beer bottle. "They don't exactly know about any of this. That we've been running into each other and getting lunch, I mean."
"I see." Draco took a sip of his whisky, trying to mask the inexplicable sliver of disappointment he felt at Potter's admission. It wasn't as if Draco hadn't been expecting it, and Draco certainly had not told any of his friends about...whatever this was with Potter. But it still burned that Draco had been reduced to a dirty little secret. And not even the sexy kind.
"It's only—I tried to tell them, but the second I mentioned your name, they all sort of...went off. I reckon Hermione's the only one who really understands why I had to speak up for you at your trial, and even she's not exactly happy about it. It just wasn't worth the fight. I'm so bloody sick of fighting."
Part of Draco wanted to bristle at that, at the idea that a Malfoy, that he, wouldn't be worth fighting for. Potter had a point though, and anything that made him look as exhausted and haggard as he did right now was probably best avoided, for the sake of all wizarding-kind. If another Dark Lord popped up, they would all want Potter in prime fighting condition.
"Merlin, Potter, no need to get so worked up. If it means I won't have to socialise with the Weasley clan, then I think I can survive a little secrecy. Besides, it keeps things exciting." Draco smiled suggestively, and a dark blush spilled down Potter's neck.
Draco dressed quickly, doing his best to keep his head down and his mouth shut. He didn't think any of his teammates would attack him, but it was clear there was no love lost there. If he didn't love flying so much, and if he wasn't so desperate to make a new name for himself, he wasn't sure he would have bothered to stick it out.
He did love Quidditch though, and he knew that becoming a well-loved player could do a world of good for him and his family name. So he put up with the cold silences and heated glares, because nothing was going to stop him from rising to the top. Luckily none of his teammates were stupid enough to let their personal feeling towards him affect how they played the game. Draco may only be on the reserve team for now, but it was clear from training that he had what it took. Puddlemere's current Seeker, Hemsley, was going to be retiring soon, and then Draco would have his chance. Once he started winning matches for Puddlemere, he would be everybody's new best friend. Everybody loves a winner.
He checked his watch and swore. Fuck, he was supposed to meeting Astoria for dinner in five minutes. She hated sitting in restaurants by herself, looking like she'd been stood up. Draco glanced down. He supposed his current outfit would have to do.
Draco arrived at the restaurant with seconds to spare, an out-of-the-way little French place that Astoria had discovered during one of her many walks around London for architectural inspiration.
"You were nearly late," Astoria admonished as Draco kissed her cheek hello.
"Lucky for everybody I was not."
Astoria grinned. "I don't think our mothers would be too pleased if you had stood me up."
"Oh Salazar, not this again."
Astoria nodded in commiseration while the waiter poured them some wine. "They've set their hearts on it. My mother seems to go deaf every time I mention that we're seeing where things go. Though my father is always ready to point out that there are plenty of other eligible pure-blood men that they could set me up with." She wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Well, at least you like men. When my mother isn't going on about how perfect we look together, she's pointing out every single witch of status and bemoaning her lack of grandchildren." Draco paused and frowned into his wine glass. "I think she knows."
Astoria gasped. "Really?"
"I don't think she has admitted it to herself, and maybe she doesn't know that I am gay exactly, but...there's this sort of manic gleam in her eyes whenever she talks about marriage and grandchildren. I think she's picked up on my lack of enthusiasm and is...reacting. The less interested I seem, the harder she pushes. It's as if she believes she can make me want to get married if only she tries hard enough."
Astoria slipped a small, smooth hand over Draco's and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry. It's all so backwards, the way the old families do things, the emphasis on marriage and children and carrying on the family name. Whatever happened to love?"
Draco snorted. "Love? Not turning into a Hufflepuff on me, are you, Astoria?"
"Oh, get bent. I'm saying that we should be allowed to be with whoever we want. And if they're a Muggle, or a squib, or the same sex...none of that should matter."
"But it does matter. At least it does to my parents. I do believe they love me, but we both know they would disown me if they found out about my preferences."
Astoria bit her lip. "I wish it wasn't like that, Draco."
Draco smiled sourly. "So do I. But enough about that, let's talk about something less bleak, shall we?"
Astoria nodded, looking around, before leaning in. "Well, we could talk about that fuckwit that Pansy's started seeing. I don't know if you have met him yet, but…"
"So what is this place known for?" Draco asked as he unwound his scarf. It seemed like the restaurants Potter asked to meet him at were getting dodgier and dodgier. The food was always decent though, Draco would give him that.
"What on earth is that?"
"Basically a chip sandwich," Potter said with an excited grin.
Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. "More fried foods. Lovely. And now you have decided to wrap them in bread. "
"Oi, just because you can't eat any of these delicious foods, doesn't mean I'm going to hold back."
"No, by all means, go ahead. I am sure all that...Auror-ing you do will have to be enough to keep you fit." Draco's gaze trailed over the curve of Potter's bicep, almost against his will.
Potter's cheeks darkened and he looked down, suddenly fascinated by the menu. Draco frowned. If he didn't know any better, he almost would have said Potter was interested. More likely, he was just shy. Either way, at least Draco's subtle flirting had not earned him a punch in the jaw.
"It has been awhile since I've heard from you. I was beginning to think you had gotten bored." Draco fought back a wince as he heard the words, hoping that Potter would not see them for the pathetic whinging that they were. It had been nearly a month since their last lunch, and with each passing, owless day, Draco couldn't ignore the heaviness in his stomach. It was ridiculous, mourning the loss of Potter. They weren't even friends. But Draco could not deny how much he enjoyed their fragile truce. It felt like something just for them, something that the rest of the wizarding world did not get to dissect and analyze and judge.
Potter smiled. "Nah. You're many things, Draco Malfoy, but boring isn't one of them." Draco's heart skipped a beat, and Draco cursed that he had never quite mastered that cold, pure-blood control of oneself that his father had tried so hard to instill in him. Potter continued on, unaware of the effect his words had on Draco. "There was a surprise retreat for Auror Training. I was gone for a couple of weeks. Only just got back."
"I see. And that went well?"
"Yeah, it was great. Bloody cold where we were, but I'm learning loads. Though it is nice to be back home. Well, nice isn't the right word, but it's familiar," Potter said with a grin, like he was letting Draco in on a joke.
"Do you not live in a nice place?"
Potter's smile faltered. "I forgot you wouldn't know." He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. "Right now I'm living in the house my godfather left me."
Potter nodded, his expression tight. "Yeah. Grimmauld Place."
Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully. "The old Black residence. I think I understand what you mean about it not being nice. From what my mother used to tell me, it was not the most...cheerful of places."
"That's an understatement," Potter snorted. "Though we did loads of cleaning up during…" He trailed off with a frown, before he picked up again, "And I've been working on it a little in my spare time."
"When you're not gardening."
Potter's eyes crinkled attractively with the force of his smile. "When I'm not gardening," he agreed.
"I've always been curious about it. My mother would never let me visit, but I was fascinated as a child by her stories of the place."
"You should…" Potter paused, looking uncharacteristically nervous for a moment. "You should come over sometime. Take a tour."
Draco started, surprised by the unexpected gesture. He kept expecting Potter to cut ties, for him to remember their complicated past, for Potter to remember that he hated Draco, and leave him behind. Instead, he seemed almost determined for them to be friends. Draco knew first hand that it was not easy to dissuade Potter once he set his mind to something.
He must have stayed silent in his shock for too long, because Potter hastened to add, "You don't have to if you don't want to. I just thought...and, I, err, actually have something of yours. I was meaning to send it to you, but it didn't really seem like the kind of thing I should send by owl. And giving it to you in public seemed weird, and, well, you seem to have one that works just fine now…."
Cold realisation settled over Draco, his eyes widening. "Are you talking about my wand, Potter?"
Potter stopped rambling. "Yes."
"And you would be willing to give it back to me?"
"Why wouldn't I be? It's yours."
Draco stared at him. "Because you won it from me. It's your right to keep it. Not to mention it has been over two years, and you have never once indicated that you would be interested in returning it." His voice was sharper than he had intended, but it was his wand.
This time Potter looked sheepish. "I actually just found it. I'd been meaning to give it back after the trials, but everything was so chaotic then, what with moving out of the Burrow and starting training...I forgot. I came across it the other day while cleaning and realised I'd never returned it."
"If you're offering, then I would very much like my old wand back." There. That was better. Cordial. Polite. Not at all betraying the eager desperation prowling under his skin. Draco had gotten a new wand after the war, and it worked perfectly fine, but it had never felt as right in his hand as his old Hawthorne wand had.
"Of course. You can come over anytime, and I'll hand it over. I can give you a tour of Grimmauld Place too, if you'd like?"
Draco nodded and raised his glass, not trusting himself to speak and not demand to be taken to Potter's house immediately for the transfer. He took a long sip of his drink. Potter watched him, his eyes darkening when Draco licked the liquid from his lips. As much as his head told him it was insanity, Draco knew desire when he saw it. He had not been expecting it from Potter, of all people. Potter's gaze made its way up his face, and Draco raised his eyebrows when their eyes finally locked. Immediately, Potter looked away. Draco wondered if Potter thought he was such an idiot that he hadn't noticed him staring.
"I'm going away with my parents for the holidays. I'll be in France for the next month or so, but perhaps when I get back?" Draco knew he could ask to do it this week, before he left, and that Potter would comply. For some reason, though, Draco suddenly wanted to put it off. Maybe he wanted something to look forward to after the long month with his parents. Not to mention that it wouldn't do to seem overly eager.
"Sure, yeah. After the holidays should work great. I'll owl you."
"Please do." He took another long drink, slightly exaggerating the tilt of his head so that his throat was more prominently on display. Sure enough, Potter's gaze was transfixed, watching the bob of Draco's throat as he swallowed. That was definitely interest Draco saw in his eyes, though Draco wondered if Potter was even aware of how much.
Potter turned to signal the waitress for another drink, and Draco let his own gaze wander. Draco had been doing his best to suppress it ever since he had run into Potter again, nearly a year ago now, but he couldn't deny that Potter was fit. Strong and lean, with dark hair and plush lips—he was exactly Draco's type. He wondered what Potter would look like naked and sweaty beneath him and immediately regretted it when a tidal wave of lust crashed over him. It was an appealing thought. More than appealing, really, the idea of blowing off a little steam with Potter. It was a terrible idea, though. Draco couldn't afford a scandal, and certainly not one with the Chosen One. Besides, Potter might be a little curious, but that hardly meant he would be willing to act on it. And if he was willing, Draco could hardly see him being the type to go along with a casual, no-strings-attached relationship—which was the only kind Draco was willing to offer.
No, best not to go there at all.
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